


Goodnight, Stanley

by kitsunesocks



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Bill's a bitch, But more in a Bill-being-a-little-shit kinda way, Dipper being an awkward cutie, Folklore, Gen, I even threw in a cipher for you nerds, Iceland, Long ass fic, Mabel being a cutie, Mindscape funtimes, Nightmares, Paranoia, Possession, Post-Canon, Post-Finale, Post-Weirdmaggedon, Psychological Torture, free Stan Pines 2k16, major angst, stangst if you will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-05-22 14:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 65,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6083040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsunesocks/pseuds/kitsunesocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stanley Pines is having a hard time falling asleep, when a frightening presence makes itself known. Takes place after the events of the finale. *UPDATE* Fic is complete!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**PART 1**

 

The waves rocked and crashed against the sides of the Stan O' War II as Stanley and Stanford Pines slept in their rickety below-deck bunk beds. It'd been so long since the brothers had spent any time together that Stanley had forgotten that his brother was an obnoxious snorer. He grumbled as he rolled over to face the wall, pulling the other half of his pillow over his head to block out the noise. With the door to their small cabin bedroom closed, not even the moonlight penetrated the darkness. With all of Stan's senses heightened from the lack of light, it made the snoring even worse. The damned pillow wasn't thick enough to block out anything more than the distant sound of the waves.

There was a simple answer as to why Stanley Pines was still awake - he was afraid to fall asleep. He'd been on this rickety old boat with his brother for nearly three months, but it was only recently that the nightmares had started. He knew there was no reason for him to be afraid anymore - Bill was long gone, and in every port they stopped in they were met with letters from their niece and nephew. There was usually at least one letter from Dipper to Ford, fervently documenting his research on urban legends for extra credit assignments, to which Ford would usually go on for a good half hour about to Stan's uninterested ears. Mabel would write about school and new friends, and of course, about the special outdoor home she was making for Waddles in their backyard. Stan chuckled to himself as he considered how much yarn it was probably covered in.

But between the reassuring letters and day to day banter and adventure with his brother, he'd somehow find himself back in the triangular cage he and Ford had been trapped in, reliving the same moments over and over again in his dreams. The kids running away from them, baiting a monstrous, livid Bill Cipher through the corridors of his nightmarish palace while Ford banged on the walls of their prison. Rapidly switching clothes with his twin, hoping and praying that the kids could keep Bill on the run for just a few minutes longer. Bill, two stories tall, clutching the kids in one oversized hand, threatening to kill one of them _'just for the heck of it'_ as Dipper and Mabel desperately struggled to break free from his grasp. The moment when Bill entered his mind.

Stan stopped himself, gripping the railing of his bed with white knuckles. It was over, it had been over for months. He was becoming overcome by his exhaustion now as his eyelids drooped, begging for sleep. He tried to clear his mind, like Ford had hurriedly told him to do on that day. It was the only way to ensure Bill would be fooled and to trap him permanently. Stan had to empty every fear, every thought, and focus only on his mission - to distract Bill long enough for Ford to shoot the memory gun. Stan wasn't afraid of what would happen to himself - only what would happen to his family if he failed.

Once again he stopped himself, again getting trapped in his own painful memories of that day - memories he wished he hadn't regained. He cleared his mind the best he could and closed his eyes, the sound of his brother's snoring slowly fading away as he drifted off.

* * *

_The room was on fire._ Hungry blue flames licked the edges of Stan's mind, the shack paraphernalia on the walls becoming faded and dim against the light. Stan looked around, and suddenly realized that he was not the Stan that stood in the center of the burning room. He was _watching_ the scene from the corner, watching as his past self punched the one eyed demon square in the face, when something changed. The tiny pieces of Bill's destroyed form slowly began to flow in the opposite direction, and Stan's punch seemed to reverse itself, pulling back into his body as Bill's form was rebuilt from thousands of broken shards.

Stan's eyes widened as he realized he was watching the same scene, but in reverse. Words became garbled and nonsensical, and Bill's pleading, outstretched hand drew inwards. His manic changing of shapes and sizes began to play in reverse order, but something seemed… wrong. As if on cue, the garbled backwards gibberish of the dream suddenly became desperate, screaming words.

_"A-X-O-L-O-T-L MY TIME HAS COME TO BURN, I INVOKE THE ANCIENT POWER THAT I MAY RETURN!"_

And everything disappeared into a white void. Stan stood on an invisible floor as an enormous shadow fell over his frame. An ice cold chill swept through the air, and he looked up. The sky was black, and the darkness crept down into the whiteness, consuming it until everything was dark. Whispered voices rung out through the darkness, some far away and others close enough to make Stan jump, as if whatever it was was right next to him. The whispered voices began to giggle, growing hysterical. Panic was beginning to overtake him, his skin crawling from whatever unknown force was at work.

The voices stopped, and then a singular, booming voice rang out, forcing Stan to fall to his knees, his hands clamped over his ears.

_"HEY, STANLEY..."_

The sky opened up into a giant red eye, and laughed.

* * *

"STANLEY, WAKE UP!"

Stan's eyes snapped open, his twin brother staring down at him in concern, his six-fingered hands shaking his brother's shoulders. Stan broke free from his brother's grasp and sat up, beads of sweat barely concealed on his aged face, his breathing ragged. He was quiet as his brother sat there in stunned silence.

"What? What do you want?" he grumbled, trying to hide the fear that leaked into his voice. Ford sat there, his eyes cast downwards, before turning to his brother.

"Stanley, you looked like you were having convulsions," Ford said worriedly, resting his hand on his brother's skinny leg. Stan grumbled and stood up, stretching out a bit before slipping his feet into his comfy slippers and moving towards the door.

"I'm fine," he muttered. "Just a bad dream…" Ford moved in front of the door, blocking his path.

"Stan, that's not all. You were… you were saying _his_ name. Over and over again…"

Stanley was silent as he looked to his brother, filled with dread. He didn't even have to ask who he was talking about.

"Ford, I'm fine. Just a bad dream, I can handle it," he said as he moved around his brother to open the door. "I have to use the john, do you mind?" His brother nodded and moved aside, watching his brother as he walked down the small hallway to the bathroom.

"If you need anything, just…"

"Say the word, I know. I'm fine. Really," Stan said as he closed the door, but even he didn't believe it. He wasn't okay, not by a longshot. The tough old man looked at his reflection in the mirror, furrowing his brow as he gripped the sink with both hands.

"What has gotten into me…" he murmured as he turned on the sink, splashing himself with a few liberal handfuls of cold water. He leaned in closely, inspecting his own eyes, looking for the telltale slitted pupils, but his eyes looked normal aside from the massive purple bags beneath them. He sighed. It was bad enough that he was making Ford worry about him like this. He was a grown man - he could deal with a couple nightmares on his own.

The door creaked obnoxiously as Stan slipped back into the room, trying to quietly shut the door behind him. The bed let out a squeak as Ford sat up a bit from the top bunk.

"Stanley, I know you said you were fine but… are you sure you're okay?" he asked with concern. Stan nodded, using a smirk to cover his own uncertainty.

"Don't worry 'bout me, Fordsey, I'll be fine," he answered as he sat down onto the bed, the mattress creaking loudly beneath him. He could hear his brother lie back down and the rustle of blankets above him.

"Okay…" Ford said, putting the event aside, at least for the night. "Goodnight, Stanley."

"Night, Ford," Stan murmured as he rolled over and pulled the covers over his shaking body, even though he knew it wasn't cold. He sighed and rolled over a few times before finding a comfortable position. It was quiet when he heard it. A small voice, so quiet that he might not have noticed if it wasn't for the way the hairs on the back of his neck shot up as the words rang out in the dark.

_"GOODNIGHT, STANLEY."_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little voice makes itself at home in Stanley's head.

“Up and at em, Stanley!” said the most familiar and _annoying_ voice as the lights flicked on in one swift motion, dousing the room in harsh, ugly yellow light. Stan groaned loudly in annoyance, squinting his eyes against the glare. Then the alarm clock went off, blaring bloody _murder_ as Stan blindly stuck out on arm and smashed the off button. _Damn Ford, couldn’t even wait for the alarm, eh?_

“Ugh, I hardly slept last night… could you gimme a couple minutes?” Stanley begged, rolling over to block out the light.

“But Stan, I made your favourite breakfast,” Ford lightly protested, putting his hands on his hips as he waited for the response he was expecting. Stan perked up as he sniffed the air.

“Toffee-peanut crusted omelette?” he asked hesitantly, childhood nostalgia rushing through him. Ford gave a small smile.

“It’s gonna get cold…” he said slyly, and that’s all it took for Stan to pounce out of bed and scramble for the boat’s tiny kitchen, leaving Ford laughing in his brother’s dust as he followed him to the table he’d set for two. On one plate: a sensible bowl of oatmeal and a sliced apple. On the other: a disgusting creation of pure childhood delight. Stanley looked like he was going to cry as he picked his brother up in a suffocating hug.

“Agh-alright, that’s enough, Stanley! You’re -agh- you’re welcome!” he choked out as Stan sat down at the table and took a bite. He smiled, looking like a kid in an old man’s body.

“Aw, you even made it with the same brand of peanuts I like! Oh man, this is good. What’s gotten into you, Ford? There somebody’s birthday I’m forgetting?” he said between bites, never one for so-called ‘manners.’

“Oh, I don’t know…,” Ford said with a sad smile, and let out a small sigh and shrugged, putting his elbows on the table and tenting his fingers. “Look, Stanley, I know you’ve been having a bit of a hard time lately with the… _unpleasantness_ of three months ago…” Stan groaned, dropping his utensils on the table with a clatter.

“Oh, come on! You're telling me you made me this because you feel _bad_ for me?” Stan erupted, turning his head to the window to stare out at a more pleasant sight than his brother massaging the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Stanley, I’m worried about you,” Ford said gently, trying to get his brother’s attention back. He clasped his hands in front of him, tilting his head. “Look, it’s perfectly normal to be experiencing some delayed memory response to all this, especially in your case…”

“Don’t you especially-in-your-case me!” Stan shouted, loudly pushing his chair out as it scraped against the wooden floor and stood up with his plate in one hand. “I don’t need your sympathy, I told you it’s nothing!” And with that, he walked over to the garbage, scraping the rest of his omelette into the trash.

“Tasted terrible anyways,” he muttered, his eyes narrowed as he looked to see the shock painted on his brother’s face.

_“WOW, HE SURE IS PATHETIC! IT'S KINDA FUNNY, ISN'T IT?!”_

Stan started to laugh, low in his throat before exploding in a short burst of hysteria. Ford stared at his brother, completely at a loss for words. Stan stood up straighter and adjusted his glasses.

“I’ve got some letters from the kids to write back to,” Stan said, staring straight ahead as he headed for his room. Ford stood there dumbfounded, watching his brother slam the bedroom door as the sun rose higher in the sky.

* * *

One week passed. A week of hardly any sleep. A week of frightening visions and suspicious glances from Ford. A week of trying to ignore the new voice in Stanley’s head.

It was a voice Stanley couldn’t quite place. It didn't sound any different from his own thoughts, and yet Stan knew it couldn't be his own because he was frightened of it. There was something sinister about the way it seemed to slither in and out of his inner dialogue; the way it encouraged him to laugh for a bit too long when his brother took a bad slip on the deck, or the way it stretched the small frustration of being out of Pitt soda to a full blown tantrum.

It had become a common occurrence for Ford to find himself being silently woken by his brother’s pained murmurs at night. He'd descend the small wooden ladder of their bunk bed and tuck his brother back in, the sheets thrown in a nightly mess on the floor. Then he’d turn on the lamp on the desk across from the bed, and with the first fifteen minutes every night until Stanley would stir again, he'd write down the day’s… _anomalies_.

So many sleepless nights went by that they began to blur. Stan could no longer tell when the darkness of the bedroom stopped and the darkness of his nightmares began. He'd find himself wandering through the hallways of the boat, only to see eyes appear inside the walls.

And so Stan stopped sleeping.

Ford curtly announced that they’d finally be docking in Iceland the next day. It wasn’t their first trip there - it had become fairly routine: they’d make accommodations at their usual bed-and-breakfast, do a few weeks’ worth of shopping for the boat, send back a couple letters to the kids, and be on their merry way. This time was different though - they'd be staying ashore for a few days, docking the boat at the marina, and then flying home to spend the Thanksgiving holiday in Gravity Falls. The kids had been invited to stay for the break, which to their Grunkles’ delight, they’d jumped at accepting.

Thinking about seeing the kids again seemed to help ease Stan’s mind. He was eager to get back to the shack, back to his old familiar armchair where he could relax and watch Ducktective when his brother wasn't around to judge him. They’d decided to stay until after New Year’s, and then they’d take off again for the Arctic Ocean.

_“NOT THAT SIXER OVER THERE COULDN'T HANDLE THIS SNOOZE FEST ON HIS OWN, AM I RIGHT?”_

Stan smiled in agreement, before catching the strange thought in its tracks and dragging his hands down his aged face in frustration. He closed his eyes and saw a single red one staring back.

* * *

The two brothers sat across from each other at the table, neither one of them speaking as they ate the catch of the day that Ford had prepared. The clatter of cutlery marked the silence like tense punctuation without a phrase. Ford coughed gently. Stan didn’t look up from his plate.

“You know, I think this trip home couldn't have come at a better time. I think we've both gone a bit stir crazy on this old girl, haven't we?” Ford probed. He was met with Stan looking up from the table to glare at his brother, and then look back down again at the mangled bits of fish left on his plate.

“Stan, I need you to talk to me,” Ford sighed, one six-fingered hand resting on his forehead. Stan continued to cut up his fish.

“What's there to talk about?” he grunted back.

“Stan, you’re not acting like yourself…”

_“LISTEN TO THIS GUY! SINCE WHEN HAS HE BEEN THE EXPERT ON YOUR LIFE?! THE GENIUS WAS OUTTA THE PICTURE FOR THIRTY YEARS!”_

“Oh, yeah? And how would you know?! You didn't know me for thirty years!” Stan erupted, his cutlery pointing up as his fists banged on the table.

“Stan, what if the kids saw you like this?!” Ford exclaimed, before narrowing his eyes. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“What?! Like how I’m _losing_ _my mind??_ That's what you think, isn't it six fingers?!” Stan exploded, standing up from the table. Ford was silent, his eyes wide in silent horror.

“What did you just call me?” he asked quietly, standing up from the table. “Stanley, I need to check something, right now.” Ford started to move towards his brother. Stan nervously backed up against the wall, looking for a quick escape. He found it as he ducked around the corner, running through the main corridor and up to the deck.

“Stanley, come back here!” Ford called, grabbing something from the kitchen drawer before running up the short steps, Stanley not far ahead of him.

“You’re crazy! Get away from me, you maniac!” Stan exclaimed as he ran towards the steering wheel, piloted by Ford’s self-steering program he’d built into the ship. That’s when he slipped on the deck, eliciting a wrathful growl from the man, echoed by the even more wrathful voice in his head. Stan was too late, though, as Ford tackled him and the two wrestled on the deck for control.

“Stanley, snap out of it! Hold still!” Ford yelled as he managed to pin down his slightly-out-of-shape brother and shine a small flashlight in his eyes. Stan squirmed and squinted as he tried to get away.

“What are you - aghh - doing?!” Stan exclaimed as Ford examined each eye. Ford's face suddenly fell in confusion, and he dropped the flashlight on the deck slick with seawater. He relinquished his grip on Stan’s wrists as he shook his head.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Stan, I thought… I thought _Bill_ was…no, but that's _impossible...”_

“Can you get off me now, you old coot?” Stan grumbled. Ford chuckled as he offered a hand to help his brother up.

“Hey now, we _are_ twins,” Ford replied, before placing both hands on his brother’s shoulders. “Stanley, I’m so sorry…”

“It's okay…” Stan sighed, looking down at the scuff marks on the deck from their skirmish. They,  _he,_ had really made a mess of things. Stan absentmindedly scratched the back his neck before finally looking his brother in the eye. “Look, I… I got something to tell ya.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much guys for reading and sticking around for the ride! The next chapter's gonna be an extra fun one. Comments are hugely appreciated! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Stans sit down to finally talk about the (big yellow) elephant in the room. Lots of Stan-angst.

Stanley drummed his fingers anxiously on the mattress as he watched his brother pull the bedroom door shut. There was no reason to do so - they were most certainly alone, in the general sense anyway. There was something about the action, though, that set Stan at ease. The self-steering program was taking good care of their journey toward the mainland, and with the door closed, not even a wayward seagull could interrupt the brothers.

"Alright, just one more thing," Stanford said as he walked over to the desk and pulled open a drawer to fetch not one, but three items from within it. One was Ford's newest jewel, Journal Number 4, along with a black pen, the end chewed off as usual.

The last item was a tinfoil hat, which he donned gleefully to his brother's intense annoyance.

Ford walked over to the bed and sat down cross-legged on the floor across from his very irritated brother. They sat in silence for a moment as Ford laid out the journal and pen by his side, a very agitated and sweaty Stan finally losing it.

"Okay, _enough with the wise guy routine!"_ Stan exclaimed as he yanked the tinfoil hat off of his brother's head, ruffling Ford's grey hair in the process. Ford attempted half heartedly to grab it back, eventually sighing in defeat as Stan crushed it into a ball, his restless hands happy for something to play with to distract himself from the conversation about to take place. The bed creaked below Stanley as he sat on the edge of his lower bunk, looking down at his twin on the floor, his journal now open on his lap with his pen at the ready.

"Sorry, just trying to lighten the mood," Ford said, nervously twirling the pen between his six fingers.

"It said it wouldn't help anyways," Stan grumbled. Ford sat up straighter, blinking a couple times, not quite sure he'd heard that right.

"Stanley, did you just say _'it?'"_  Ford asked hesitantly, urgentness creeping into his voice. "Because if something is talki…"

"Do you _want_ me to tell you or are you just gonna keep making jokes and asking  _stupid questions!?"_ he exclaimed. Ford's eyebrows shot up as he drew his mouth into a hard line, zipped closed. The pen began to fly across a fresh page. Stan sighed as he fell back onto the bed.

_"YOU'RE STUPIDER THAN YOU LOOK IF YOU THINK TELLING YOUR PARANOID BROTHER IS GONNA SOLVE ANYTHING! JUST DON'T BLAME ME WHEN YOU WIND UP IN THE LOONY BIN, PAL!"_

Stan lied there stiff as a board, his eyes wide as he swallowed hard. _It_ was right… what could Ford even do other than observe him like a lab rat? It's not like his brother could fix this - how could he? Stan was losing his mind, just like their father had before them…

And suddenly Ford's hand was on his brother's shoulder.

"Stanley, listen to me," Ford started, leaning against the bedside wall as the aged wrinkles on his forehead drew up in concern. Sometimes Stan forgot how old the two men had become after all this time apart. "Look, I don't know what's going on, but whatever it is… I'm here for you. You can tell me anything, Stan - we're brothers." Ford smiled sincerely.

_"YOU LISTEN TO **ME** , STAN PINES - YOU CAN DO THIS THE EASY WAY OR THE HARD WAY. IF YOU SAY ANYTHI…"_

"You promise you're not gonna think I'm crazy? Or start reaching around in my brain with some kinda nerd thing?" Stan grumbled, his eyes squeezed shut as he gathered his resolve. Ford chuckled.

"I can't make any promises regarding any 'nerd things,' but I don't think you're crazy, Stanley," Ford reassured, squeezing his brother's shoulder. "Go ahead."

After this, there was no more pretending that everything was okay. Stan opened his eyes, and Ford was still right there. He took a deep breath...

_"YOU'RE MAKING A BIG MISTAKE, BUDDY!"_

And breathed out.

"Okay," Stan relinquished, squeezing the tinfoil ball as tight as he could in his hand, and then dropping the condensed piece of metal on the ground. "Here it is… all of it."

* * *

Ford sat on the ground in stunned silence, Stan anxiously perched on the edge of the bed.

"So… what's the verdict, poindexter?" Stan asked, his voice a bit hitched. He watched as Ford picked up the journal again, quickly mapping together the pages of fresh notes he'd scrawled out while Stan had painfully recalled the goings on of the past two weeks. Ford's expression was unreadable, his eyes darting between scribbled words and his brother's face. Stan could make out the word _AXOLOTL_ circled multiple times.

"It's not good, Stanley," Ford replied somberly, not breaking his gaze from the book as he stood up and began to pace the floor, the wood creaking under his feet. His twin audibly gulped. "Tell me, Stan, do you hear any voices right now?" Stanley paused for a moment, taking in the silence.

"No, nothing," Stan replied, his hand nervously retreating to the back of his head. "I mean, it comes and goes, so…"

"...so it's hard to tell, yes, I understand," Ford finished his thought for him. Stan grumbled in annoyance - he hated when Ford did that. "And how would you describe how you're feeling right now?" Stan could picture his own face turning red as lava as he stood up, erupting.

"I'm feeling a little _pissed off_ that all you want to do is document me like some kind of lab experiment!" Stan exploded. "This is _exactly_ why I didn't want to tell you about thi…!" he stopped mid-sentence, as he suddenly noticed the tears beading in his brother's eyes from behind his glasses. Ford tried to inconspicuously wipe them away, when he met his brother's gaze and let them fall. Neither said a word as Stan slowly stood up and pulled his brother into a tight embrace. Ford let his head fall onto his brother's shoulder.

"I just can't believe you've been going through all of this on your own," Ford muttered, trying to sober himself up. He gently pushed off his brother to face him. "I understand why you didn't tell me but damn it, Stan, I could've tried to help!"

"Heh... yeah, well, you know me," Stan chuckled. "Like Mom used to say…"

"Stubborn as a mule in a cliche competition!" the two remarked at the same time, ending in a small fit of laughter. Stan put on his best swashbuckling smile, his hands landing on his hips as he tried to portray the utmost in confidence.

"Look, we've both been to hell and back. It's like you said, right? Whatever it is, we can deal with it," Stan said, flashing a toothy grin. Ford tried his hardest to smile back with gusto, but he could tell his brother wasn't buying it. "Jeez, whatever you have to tell me must be really bad." Ford sighed in response.

"We've always been straight shooters, Stan, so I'll give it to you straight. I can't know for sure yet, but with the evidence you've provided me with here and everything I know, this all seems to be pointing to a… _theory_. But there's good news as well, I suppose," Ford said.

"Okay, well, what's the good news, doc?" Stan asked, chuckling nervously as he slumped back down onto the bed.

"The good news is that you're not insane," Ford responded, to Stan's immediate and immense relief. "I was wondering myself if you were experiencing any of the sanity loss or paranoia that Fiddleford suffered from after his self-infliction by the memory-gun, but you don't seem any dumber than usual, no offence."

"None taken," Stan shrugged.

"But then there's the bad news…" Ford trailed off as he began to pace again, his nerves on full display. Ford looked over to his brother. "Just keep in mind it's only a _theory_ , it may not even...

"Just spit it out, Ford!" Stan exclaimed. "Anyway, it can't _possibly_ be worse than everything we went through this summer," he scoffed. Ford looked to his brother with a hardened gaze.

"I think…" Ford stumbled, sighing as he finally made himself say it. "I think someone may have hitched a ride on your returning memories, Stan."

"I don't get it," Stanley murmured, trying to stay calm amidst his suddenly fast-beating heart. "What are you saying, Ford?"

"I'm saying that your memories may not have been the only thing that survived that memory-gun," Ford said, staring straight ahead and trying his damnedest to appear unafraid. "I think _Bill may still be still alive."_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what was originally going to be one chapter ended up being split in half! This section ended up being so long that I thought it was best to stop it there and keep the Stan-angst mostly contained. Now that these two old men are finally on the same page, they can head ashore and have a proper adventure on the coast of beautiful Iceland! The next chapter will be much more exciting and less taut. Hope to see you then! As always comments are hugely appreciated - I love to read what you guys are thinking!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Stans arrive in Iceland, and Ford hatches a plan...

“ATTENTION. ATTENTION,” bellowed the boat’s built in alarm system. The two brothers snapped out of their collective state of petrification and turned their heads to the loudspeaker. “ARRIVAL ESTIMATED IN 2.0 HOURS.” Ford straightened his back and sighed.

“Looks like we have more urgent matters to attend to at the moment,” Ford stated as he glanced around at the mess of things spread throughout the room. “Are you okay to help me pack, Stan?” His brother groaned.

“Ford, I’m being haunted by a brain demon, I’m not an invalid,” he mumbled. He felt himself shudder just at the mention of it. Ford fell still too.

“Don’t… don’t worry, Stanley, we’re going to find a solution to this. I just don't know how much I can say around you. He might be listening…” he trailed off, looking towards his brother sitting on the bed who, despite looking incredibly tired, appeared as normal as ever. “Can you pack up in here? And don't touch my desk - you have to promise me, Stanley.”

“Yeesh, okay, I won’t go near it,” Stan answered gruffly. “Do you really think…”

“We have to assume he’s aware of everything we’re doing and have done,” Ford said forebodingly, heading towards the door. “I’ll see you in a couple hours.” He briskly went to leave.

“Wait, wait - Ford, I need to know," Stan blurted out, Ford turning back towards his brother, one foot out the door. "If Bill really is in my head, and I _really_ don't wanna think about that possibility… what can I do when I’m asleep?” Ford seemed to stiffen at the thought.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it at the inn, okay, Stan?” Ford said, giving his brother a small smile of reassurance. “We’ll figure this out, everything’s going to be okay.” Stanley gave a small nod in response. He tried not to notice the way Ford’s smile faded as he walked out the door.

 

* * *

 

The brothers intermittently poked their heads in and out of now empty rooms, making sure they really did have everything together for the trip home. Ford had run in and out of the bedroom at least four times, double checking that he'd emptied all the contents of the desk drawers. He comfortingly patted the pocket on the inside of his jacket where he could feel Journal Number 4 safely stowed.

Stan smiled as he glanced over at the two overpacked suitcases near the door, damn near bursting from the amount of sweaters Mabel had made for them for the journey. He watched as Ford walked back into the main room below-deck, where Stan was now comfortably seated on the small couch, his red beanie scrunched up in one hand.

“Fourth time proved to be the charm!” Ford proclaimed as he pocketed the chewed up pen he'd left on the bedroom floor. “I assume everything else is ready to go? You have the passports I gave to you?”

“I think they’re in the outside pocket of the, uh, black suitcase... I think,” Stan replied, absentmindedly pulling out a loose string on his hat before slipping it over his gray hair. Ford groaned as he went to check on the passports. They were there. Stan chuckled a bit as Ford begrudgingly zipped up the compartment again.

“You know it's bad enough that I had to get you un-blacklisted from every major airline, Stanley - you could at least try to remember where our legal documents are,” Ford said. Stan groaned.

“One little week-long protest chained to the Statue of Liberty and the U.S. Government assumes I'm some kind of wackjob… I tell ya, people are so serious these days!” Stan ranted. Ford rolled his eyes and smirked.

“SHORE AHEAD IN ESTIMATED TIME OF 10 MINUTES. PREPARE TO DOCK.”

Stanley’s hearing aid crackled loudly at the noise, and he winced a bit as Ford offered a hand to help him up. Together they made their way to the deck where, indeed, the shore was getting closer by the moment. That characteristic black sand shoreline, bowled in by towering, moss covered cliffs, was a sight for sore eyes.

“I can’t believe it’s already been three months. Not enough time after all those years apart…” Ford sighed. Stan playfully punched his brother in the arm, childhood nostalgia flooding through them both. The two of them laughed together, just like back in the old days.

“Aw, don’t get all sappy on me, Sixer,” Stan chuckled, rocking a bit as the boat started to slow. “We’ve had some pretty crazy adventures, you and me.” Ford smiled as he thought back on their time spent together out at sea, while also squashing the need to correct the grammar of his brother’s statement.

“I still can’t believe that pod of mermaids knew about Mabel,” Ford remarked, remembering how strange that whole encounter was. “Remember the folk song they sang about her? What was it called again?”

“The Pure-Hearted, Head-Banded Maiden,” Stan recalled with a grimace. “Creepy, but accurate.”

“I still can’t believe you punched that kraken in the face!” Ford exclaimed. “As the kids say, it was pretty _lit_ _._ ” Stan laughed heartily, looking to his brother with his hands on his hips.

“Hey, that was nothin’ compared to when we went down in those old scuba suits to find the momma Kraken’s treasure,” Stan remembered. “If only we hadn't had to bail - just imagine all the rubies and pirate gold!” Ford chuckled.

“It was a good thing we bailed when we did or we might have become that thing's dinner,” Stanford remarked. “At least we got some good pictures, though!”

“PREPARE TO DOCK,” the system blared again. The boat was fast approaching the small marina now, where they could make out the tall, stalky innkeeper standing there on the dock, waiting for them. He smiled and waved, the brothers waving back as they brought the Stan O’ War in.

Stan and Ford, on either side of the boat, tied up the boat to the posts, old pros at this by now. The innkeeper extended a hand to help Stan, and then Ford, off the boat.

“ _Kvöldið_ , Arthur! It's good to see you again!” Ford said as as he and the innkeeper shook hands, pulling him in for a brief, one armed hug. Arthur laughed, his rust coloured moustache bouncing as he smiled.

“Your accent has gotten better!” he pointed out in his own thick Icelandic accent. Ford chuckled. “Come along, my car is in the back. Helga’s expecting you!”

The brothers were ushered away to the familiar little grey car while Arthur told them all about what had been going on at the inn since the last time they had stayed there. While Arthur went on about a local stray cat having a litter of kittens in their living room, Stan’s mind was racing. It didn't feel like anyone else was in his thoughts though - just Stan and his own mounting fears. Ford looked over at his anxious brother in the car seat next to him and shot him a sympathetic smile - a small act of consolation until they were alone and could talk about it over a hot cup of coffee at the inn.

 

* * *

 

“Helga! The Pines twins are here!” Arthur announced as the door to the inn slammed shut, to the instant sound of dog barking. No sooner did Stan set his suitcase down than the smell of braised meat hit his nostrils, and the innkeepers’ giant, shaggy sheepdog practically tackled Stan. Ford laughed as his brother tried to get the panting, smelly dog off of him for a second so he could take off his coat.

“Brossi! Ah! Jeez, I missed you too, buddy!” Stan chuckled as he patted the dog’s head. Soon Brossi was all over Ford, who laughed as he bent over to rub its belly. Helga slowly made her way over to the three of them, the light reflecting off her short silver hair as she leaned up on her tiptoes to give Arthur a small kiss on the cheek before greeting the twins.

“Stans!” she chirped, pulling them both in for a warm hug. “You two always seem to come when nobody's around to eat my cooking! Come to the kitchen, come, I've just made dinner and a pot of tea!” Ford’s stomach grumbled loudly, much to his surprise.

“Ha, well, I suppose I am a bit hungrier than I thought,” he mused, looking over to his brother to make sure it was okay if they waited just a little longer to talk.

“I just made a fresh pot of _Kjötsúpa…”_ Helga teased with a twinkle in her eye. Stan’s eyes widened, his stomach rumbling like his brother's in firm agreement. He shrugged nonchalantly.

“I could eat,” he said, grinning at the thought of a steaming bowl of the Icelandic meaty soup with his name on it.

 

* * *

 

The four of them sat at the wooden dining room table slurping Kjötsúpa and drinking ale, while Helga retold the story of the kitten litter incident. As far as the kindly old couple knew, the two brothers were travelling scientific researchers, documenting marine ecosystems in the North Atlantic, which was _sort of_ true. Arthur also ran the local marina, and had offered to take care of the Stan O’ War while the brothers were away. Winter would strike hard while Stan and Ford were back home in America, but luckily for them, Arthur was a boat enthusiast who, very kindly, insisted that he wouldn't charge to watch over the twins’ boat for a couple months. The two Icelandics were almost like adoptive parents in the way they fussed over the Stans when they came back every two or three weeks for a much deserved rest. Whenever they came back to the inn, freshly baked breads and friendly dog tackles were always at the ready.

Helga got up from the table to offer them each a bowl of locally made _skyr_ , but both Stans politely declined, talking of getting ample rest for tomorrow when they’d be off to collect water samples from the waterfall near the site. In reality, Ford had been planning to go searching for the rumoured Huldufolk, fabled Icelandic elves, that supposedly frequented the valley. Stan would do what he usually did on Ford’s weird journeys - carry his brother’s science junk and continue on his own journey - to try every weird type of Icelandic candy he could find. The next day they would catch an evening flight home to Oregon, with a stopover in Seattle. In the meantime, they had to deal with their _uninvited guest._

Or at least that’s what Stanley thought as he walked up the winding, wooden staircase to his bedroom. He yawned a bit as he pushed open the door to see the familiar room he always stayed in at the inn - the one at the end of the hall with the gabled roof. Stan gulped a bit at the triangular ceiling, something that had never bothered him before. Now the room seemed practically condemned, the wooden beams that lined the peaking walls of the room forming ominous triangular shadows that cascaded across the room. He swallowed the lump in his throat, and jumped as a hand suddenly fell on his shoulder. He spun around, only to find Ford standing there beside him.

“Stanley, if you want, we can switch rooms…” Ford started, when Stan started laughing a bit, overcompensating.

“Come on, bro, don’t be ridiculous! You think I'm _scared_ of the room I've stayed in _every time_ we've come here?” Stan chuckled, trying to brush off. Ford didn't look convinced, but sighed briefly and let it go, thankfully. “Did you wanna come in and talk about…”

“I can’t, Stan, I’m sorry,” Ford interrupted him sternly. “And please don’t ask me why. I'm sorry, but I can't tell… _you.”_ Ford shifted the rim of his glasses uncomfortably. Stan looked taken aback.

“But I thought you said we were gonna…”

“I thought about it a fair bit over dinner, Stan, and believe me, it's for a good reason. I know it's been a long day and you’re scared but _please_ trust me when I tell you it's for the best,” Ford said, his eyes pleading for his brother to understand. Stan slumped a bit as he nodded. If his brother was cooking up something secretive, he wasn't going to stand in the way, especially if Ford thought something good could come of it. Suddenly Ford stuck his hand out, opening it to reveal two white pills. Stan took them hesitantly, trying to figure out what they were. It wasn't like his goodie-two-shoes brother to mysteriously give him drugs...

“They’re sleeping pills,” Stanford answered for his brother. “I thought maybe they could help.” Stan smiled, relieved and so, _so_ thankful. “They should help you rest a little easier tonight, and keep you asleep. I can’t make any promises about the nightmares, but…”

“Thanks, Sixer,” Stan said as he pulled his brother into a hug. “I really appreciate it. And don’t worry,” he smirked as he pulled away a bit. “Whatever plan you’re cooking up, I won’t stand in your way.” Ford smiled back gratefully.

“Goodnight, Stan,” Ford said, patting his twin on the back as they let go of each other. Stan watched as his brother walked down the hall to his room on the other side, and Ford waved goodbye as he shut his door quietly. Stan pulled his nerve together as he shut his own door and walked over to the small vanity in the corner of the bedroom, with an old wooden mirror and sink with fresh glasses on the wood top. Turning on the tap, he popped the sleeping pills in his mouth and rinsed them down with a glass of water. He yawned a bit longer and louder than the last time as he stumbled over to the bed sunk down into the mattress, the familiar springs creaking loudly under his weight. He took another sip of water to get the powdery taste of the pills out of his mouth, trying to recall the flavour of the soup from earlier instead.

As he clicked off the lamp by the bedside table, he set down his cup of water and nuzzled into the soft pillows, which smelled faintly of wildflowers. He pulled up the thick blanket, making himself totally comfortable as the sleeping pills began to work their magic. No voice disturbed his thoughts as he drifted off peacefully into the darkness.

 

* * *

 

The wind rustled through the trees, lightly tapping against the window, as Ford slowly and quietly opened his brother’s bedroom door. In his hands was a small box, which he set down on the floor as he gingerly shut the door and turned towards the bed. The ghostly green vapours of the aurora borealis swept through the moonlight, which shone brightly through the window over Stan’s bed, lighting his brother’s peaceful, sleeping figure in curtains of shimmering, emerald green. Stan was fast asleep, just as planned.

Ford quickly got to work setting up the candles around the bed, nine of them in total. Wasting no time, Ford pulled out a photocopied page from journal number three from his pocket - the page that contained an incantation to follow Bill into a person’s mind.

“Not exactly the normal protocol, seeing as he's been in there for several months, but _ehh_ ,” Ford quietly shrugged to himself. As the northern lights danced across the journal page, Ford prepared himself for the mission at hand: find Bill, and destroy him once and for all… _somehow_. Bill was no doubt weakened, so it probably wouldn't be too hard to rid him from Stan’s mindscape. Ford silently begged the powers-that-be that Bill hadn't merged with Stanley’s subconscious - if that had occurred, Ford had no idea how he would even go about separating them.

He stopped himself, the hypothetical thoughts only adding to his mounting anxiety. Regardless of what was going on in his brother’s mind, tonight was the night Ford was going to get some answers, one way or another. He steadily laid his left hand on his brother’s forehead, resolving his nerve as he raised the photocopy of the journal page in his other hand and began to recite the incantation scrawled upon the paper.

“Videntus omnium. Magister mentium. Magnesium ad hominem. Magnum opus. Habeas corpus. Inceptus Nolanus overratus!” Ford’s eyes squinted shut as the coloured moonlight swelled behind him, reciting the rest from memory as he psyched himself up for the standoff about to take place in Stanley’s mindscape, breathlessly continuing. “Magister mentium, magister mentium, _magister mentium!”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd never noticed the "Inceptus Nolanus overratus" thing before - HA! Ooh, burnnnn
> 
> Anyway... thanks for reading! Apologizes for the inconsistent wait between chapters - I seem to have less and less free time as of lately and I want to make sure I'm setting everything up properly for the coming chapters. I know it's a bit of a slow burn but there's a method to my madness, I promise! As always, comments are hugely appreciated! See you next-ish week!
> 
> P.S. Oh and as an extra bonus, here's a link to the bed and breakfast that I based Arthur and Helga's inn off of! https://www.tripadvisor.ca/Hotel_Review-g189978-d3747306-Reviews-Grand_Guesthouse_Gardakot-Vik_South_Region.html
> 
> *additional edit* Updated the last section of the chapter to include the presence of the northern lights that I forgot to mention! Such an otherworldly and mysterious force...


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doubts arise, and Ford finally deals with some demons of his own.

Ford wasn't ready to open his eyes yet, his mind racing as he felt a bright light encompassing him. What was waiting for him in his brother’s mindscape? What traps would a wrathful and very much _alive_ Bill Cipher have set up for him? Would he try to threaten Stanley? Was Ford even ready to face his enemy, his _torturer_ , again?

Ford took a deep breath as he _slowly and surely opened his eyes…_ only to find that he was still in the bedroom, the bright light only that of the moon.

_What?_

He blinked a bit in confusion, taking in the technicolor confirmation of reality. The very real journal page, slightly crumpled, fell from his hand to the hardwood floor.

“I don't understand. It didn't… it didn't work?” Ford questioned, scooping up the journal page and double checking the incantation line by line, again and again. Maybe he'd said something wrong? He recited the incantation again, this time keeping his eyes open. Stan’s eyes should have started glowing blue, but nothing was happening.

Ford angrily balled up the paper and threw it at his feet. _What the hell was wrong?_ Was Bill preventing him from entering Stan’s mind? _No, he didn't have any control over that…_ anyone could freely follow a demon into the mindscape with the incantation, it was beyond Bill’s control,  _unless…_

“No…” Ford breathed to himself. “All the signs clearly point to… but _why else_ wouldn't I be able to enter in after him?” Ford’s mind was racing once again for a solution, but it was late, and as his body forced a loud yawn out of him, he could tell this was going to be a losing battle. Defeatedly, he blew out the nine candles and piled them back into the box, leaving no trace as he quietly left his brother’s room. Ford glanced back at Stanley, the twin’s sleeping figure lit by the otherworldly waves of green light that danced outside the window.

He would try again tomorrow. He shut the door.

 

* * *

 

“...and so I said to Helga, a fish can’t go _fishing_ , now can it?!” Arthur exclaimed, to a quiet uproar of laughter around the table. The couple had prepared a full spread for breakfast, the table covered in plates of freshly baked breads, jams, pastries, fruit, and a tall carafe of steaming coffee. Ford, sitting across from the innkeepers, poured himself a second cup of the delicious brew, drinking it black and almost draining the cup in one drink. He hadn’t slept much that night - his mind had been preoccupied with other things.

“Stanford, would you like some fresh eggs? The chickens have been so good to us lately, you won’t believe how big they are!” Helga offered. Ford laughed and shook his head.

“I’m too full to even conceive of it!” Ford insisted, pointing to his full belly. “I’m sure Stan would be more than happy to take you up on that offer, though. And speak of the devil…” The three of them turned to the kitchen entranceway to see Stan stroll in, quietly taking a seat next to his brother and saying a quick, polite ‘good morning’ to the innkeepers. Ford raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

“I don't think I’ve ever seen you so quiet in the morning, Stan. I, uh… take it you slept well?” he asked, perhaps a bit too curiously. Stan paused before nodding, stretching out a bit in his chair.

“Best sleep of my life,” Stan responded, Ford picking up a strangely cold vibe from his brother. Stan balked a bit at the sight of his twin. “Whoa - bag check for my brother’s eyes, am I right?” The innkeepers both chuckled a bit, while Ford was trying to figure out if that was meant to be kind-spirited or not...

“I’m just glad you finally got some sleep last night,” Ford said carefully, reaching for the carafe again, which was verging on empty. Arthur quickly swept it up, heading for the kitchen to fill it up again, but not without noticing that Ford had almost drained the entire container by himself.

“Stanley, your brother was telling me that you might be interested in some fresh, oversized eggs from the chickens?” Helga suggested, trying to break whatever tension had suddenly entered her dining room. Stan nodded enthusiastically.

“Sounds amazing!” he answered. “Honestly, I’m so hungry I could eat my brother!” The couple laughed, and Arthur offered Stan a cup of coffee, who politely declined. Ford poured himself another cup.

“You ought to go easy there, Stanford,” Arthur said gently. “You have too much of that and you won’t be able to sleep tonight either!” Ford chuckled awkwardly in response as his brother suddenly leaned over to whisper something to him.

“Hey, Ford, can we step out for a few minutes so I can talk to you?” Stan asked, a bit ominously. Ford nodded, both brothers excusing themselves momentarily from the table while the sound of the fridge door creaking open was permeated with the innkeepers’ hushed whispers. Stan and Ford made their way over to the staircase, the tension hanging strangely thick for this early in the morning. Ford turned to his brother earnestly.

“Stanley, is everything okay? Are you… feeling _all there?_ ” he asked gingerly. Stan shook his head.

“I’m fine, Ford. No nightmares, no weird thoughts… I just have a question to ask you,” Stan said, reaching into his pocket. “Do you wanna explain why I found _this_ in my room this morning?” Stan opened his palm to reveal the balled up piece of journal paper Ford had thrown to the floor. Stanford cringed, smacking himself upside the head for forgetting something so _stupid_. He let out an exasperated sigh.

“Stan, listen, I’m sorry…” Ford started.

“I don't wanna hear it!” Stan hushedly stopped him. “You weren't even gonna tell me, were you?” He looked hurt.

“Stan, I didn't think you needed to know quite yet…”

“Oh, really? So when exactly were you gonna tell me that, number one, you _drugged me_ last night in order to, number two, _enter my brain_ _without asking?!”_ Stan hushedly exclaimed, the sound of cracking eggs in the distance.

“I didn't have any other choice!” Ford answered him forcefully. “Don't you think I would have told you if I could have? And it doesn't even matter anyway because _it didn't even work!_ ” Stan’s brow furrowed.

“What d’ya mean it didn't work?” Stan asked, dropping his guard a bit. Ford adjusted his glasses, taking a seat on the foot of the stairs.

“I mean that when I attempted the incantation, nothing happened, Stanley. Listen, I’ll try to explain this simply. To start with, there's nothing in Bill’s power that can…”

“Stanley! Your eggs will be ready soon!” Helga chirped from the kitchen. Stan groaned quietly.

“Just a couple minutes!” Stanley called, turning back to his brother. “I hope by simply you mean _fast_ ,genius.” Ford sighed exasperatedly.

“ _There's nothing in Bill’s power_ that can prevent the incantation from working - it's an ancient right that demons like him are governed by. Anyone is free to follow a demon into an invaded mindscape to prevent the demon’s chaos. Are you following so far?” Ford asked quickly.

“They can't stop the thing from happening, yeah, yeah, go on,” Stan said. Ford continued.

“With a cease in Bill’s… _activity_ , I figured he'd gone into hiding, and therefore I concluded that last night would be the perfect time to strike. With my knowledge of the mind, I could find him and finish him off myself without having to get you involved. I’m sorry I betrayed your trust, but I figured it was the only way to make sure Cipher wouldn't see it coming,” Ford explained earnestly. Stan’s expression softened a bit, and he gave a small nod. “What I didn't expect was what happened next. I attempted to use the incantation after you were asleep, but _nothing happened_. I stayed up for hours searching the journals and racking my brain for any logical answer, but I've only come up with one plausible explanation as to why I couldn't follow Bill into your mind... _I don't think there's a demon to follow in there, Stan_ ,” he explained, his brother’s eyes widening. “I don’t want to conclude this definitively until we absolutely know for sure, but I think you might actually be alone.” Ford smiled, catching his breath a bit before turning to his brother for a reaction. Stan seemed uncharacteristically pensive, though. 

“You know I'd be the _first_ person to celebrate the idea of _not_  having a brain-demon in my head, but you don't think this could be some kind of _con_ , do you?” Stan asked sceptically, leaning on the stair railing. “I mean, that's what he does, right?”

“I’ve certainly considered it,” Ford responded, “but none of the information you gave to me would suggest that there could be any other possibility than the one I ended up with. But you know me and foresight…" Ford trailed off, his eyes skimming the floor. “That's why I want to be cautious for now, at least until I’m sure that Bill’s gone.”

“Stanley, you _asked_ for eggs!”

“Coming, coming!” Stan quickly covered as he and his brother rushed back into the dining room. The two of them sat back down at the table, Helga presenting Stan with the two biggest fried eggs he'd ever seen. He eagerly chowed down, while Ford picked at the berries left on his plate and made light conversation with Arthur. Ford glanced over to his brother, who shot back an easy smile, thankfully. Ford breathed a sigh of relief. He just hoped, for both of their sakes, that he was right about all of this.

 

* * *

 

It hadn’t taken long to shape up and ship out on Ford’s long awaited quest, and Stan’s newest candy addition, chocolate-covered black liquorice, was safely and eagerly tucked away for his personal mission too. Helga had kindly offered to give the twins a ride up the road to the head of the valley, from where they could set out on their own. The air was crisp and a bit warmer than it would be back at home at this time of year, Stanley noted. _Wasn't it called Ice-land_?

“Come on, Stanley, keep up!” Ford called out to his daydreaming brother, the snow-teased valley now well underfoot. A slight layer of ice crunched under their boots, concealing the wilted wild flowers of summer, while small patches of snow marked the field leading to the waterfall they were seeking.

“Hey, you’d be the one dragging behind if you were lugging all this instead of me,” Stan replied, heaving the backpack of Ford’s supplies onto his opposite shoulder. Ford stopped for a moment, turning around.

“We can swap out if you want, Stan, it’s fine,” Ford offered, but Stan shook his head. “Really, I’m more than capable…”

“You heard the doctor before we left, poindexter,” Stan argued. “No heavy lifting for you, your heart can't take the stress. Not after the electricu…”

“You don’t have to say it... I know,” Ford stopped him, shutting down an unpleasant memory before it grabbed hold of him. He shook away the thought before continuing. “On another note, could you pass me the ‘weirdometer?’” Stan chuckled as he swung the bag around onto one arm and zipped it open, reaching around for the compass-like device.

“I still can’t believe my dumb name for it actually stuck,” Stan commented. Ford shrugged.

“It’s succinct, accurate, kinda catchy...” Ford listed off as Stan passed him the device. “And, plus, I really like it.” He shot his brother a smile before turning his attention to the wildly fluctuating needle on the small machine. Ford started pointing the device in a few different directions, spinning the dials and adjusting the frequency knob, until suddenly it emitted a short beep, the needle settling on a final location. Both brothers grinned as they started out towards the base of the falls.

“So…” Stan said, starting up the conversation again. “What kinda elves are we talkin’ about here? Tiny, mythical ones? Santa ones?”

“No, no, no pointy ears or gift making,” Ford answered with a laugh. “The Huldufolk are a bit like old-timey people, but shorter - kind of like children. ‘Huldufolk’ literally means ‘ _hidden people_ ,’ and it’s for a reason - they're only visible to certain, ‘spiritual’ people. Luckily for me,” Ford continued, pointing to a pair of special tinted goggles and a headset attached to his belt, “I get to bypass those requirements!” Ford looked over to his brother.

“I suppose you don't have two sets of those things, huh?” Stan asked, sounding a bit disappointed. Ford frowned, shaking his head.

“Sorry, Stanley - the parts I would've needed to build a matching set were eaten by that possessed shark on our first diving trip,” Ford said. Stan remembered that one all too well.

“R.I.P. incredibly-realistic-looking fish-camera,” Stan murmured, taking off his hat. “It’s swimmin’ and taking pictures through its fake little fish-mouth in fish-camera heaven!”

“Anyway…” Ford continued, smirking at his brother's dramatics. “When I’m done doing a sketch for the journal, I’ll call you over and pass you the goggles so you can meet them! While I’m interviewing them, though, it’d be great if you could take some fake water samples to bring back to the inn.” Stan looked less than enthralled with the idea.

“I guess I can take some pictures for the kids while I’m at it. I bet they’d really be eating up this beautiful, weird nature thing, especially Mabel,” Stan chuckled. “It’ll be nice to get home and see the kids for Thanksgiving. I actually miss the little skamps.” Ford smiled.

“It’s strange to think that I have some semblance of a family to return to for the holidays,” Ford said, a sad smile etching his face and catching in his eyes. “You’re going to have to remind me how to celebrate Thanksgiving - it’s been a long time since I had turkey… or at least what you’d call turkey in _this_ dimension.” Stan pulled his beanie back on, chuckling awkwardly as he stuck his hands in his pockets.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve had a proper Thanksgiving, too,” Stan admitted, kicking a rock in his path. “Soos’ Abuela usually invited me over to their house, but I always felt too, I don’t know, _embarrassed,_ to accept the invite. I’d say I was celebratin' with some poker buddies, or that I had new attractions to work on at the shack… Usually I’d just go downstairs and try to get something of yours to work, to remind me that you were still out there...” He wiped away a quick tear with his palm, not giving it much thought as he chuckled. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get all sappy on ya.” Ford shook his head.

“I don’t think it’s sappy, Stan… Well, maybe it is a little bit,” Ford joked, playfully shoving his brother, who shoved back a bit harder as the two of them laughed and staggered along together, getting closer to their target. “And Christmas! And Hanukkah too! That’s going to be something…”

“There some kind of terrifying Christmas demon in Gravity Falls that I should be aware of?” Stan asked, half serious. Ford laughed. “Did they have anything like Christmas in the dimension you were in?” Ford was taken a bit off guard by the question. Stan never asked about the time he'd spent on the other side of the portal, and for now, Ford wanted to keep it that way. It was just one question, though - harmless enough.

“Not really, but you don't have anything like _Zorboglaz_ over here,” Ford remarked with a smug smirk, crossing his arms to his brother's instant amusement. “You would _love_ Zorboglaz, Stan.” Stan looked more than intrigued.

“We should celebrate it before we go away again! Invite the kids!” he offered. Ford cringed a bit, adjusting his glasses.

“It’s not exactly _kid-appropriate_ , if you catch my drift,” Ford hinted. Stan shook his head and Ford paused, putting the right words together. “It’s sort of like St. Patrick’s day’s _wild, satanic cousin_.” Stan’s eyes bulged.

“And that’s just _one holiday…_ ” Stan trailed off, instantly lost in fantasies of the most _crazy, messed up parties_ he could imagine. His younger self was _so_ jealous.

Ford looked to his brother, a hungry look suddenly in his twin's eyes. _This had been a mistake_.

“You’ve been holding out on me, bro! Any other _crazy_...” Stan stopped as he noticed his brother was looking away. He wondered if he had struck a nerve or something. Without warning, Ford stopped in his tracks. Stan hesitantly stopped too, turning worriedly to his brother.

“Did I say something?” Stan asked. Ford paused, before finally shaking his head no. He breathed out a long, slow breath.

“Stan… I promise that one day I’ll tell you about everything that happened to me on the other side of that portal, but I don’t want to glamorize it, or give you the wrong idea,” he said, shaking away thoughts that he’d successfully kept at bay for several months now. He paused before continuing. “Do you know why I had sleeping pills with me, Stan?” Stanley hadn’t really stopped to consider it, and slowly realized what the answer probably was.

“I’m guessing… you didn’t take ‘em along for _me_ , huh?” Stan asked quietly. Ford shook his head, looking out towards the horizon, vividly blue and cloudless.

“After I got back home, after _you helped me get home_ , I was in shock for a while. In truth, I’d been in a suspended state of shock for thirty years… but after you almost lost your memories, and _the kids_ had been so close to... I can’t even say it _,_ ” Ford stopped himself, taking a moment. “I’d lie awake for hours thinking about it all… about what had happened to me while I was on the other side, about what _you_ must have gone through in all that time, about how the kids were _possibly_ going to deal with everything they’d been through with Weirdmageddon… I’d wake up in the middle of the night with flashes of Bill entering my mind. I was afraid to sleep, even though I knew it was irrational.” Everything was so clear now to Stan - why Ford had been so concerned, why he’d done everything he could to help...

“So you got a prescription,” Stanley murmured. Ford nodded solemnly.

“A rather large one at that. I never told you, but… for the first six weeks or so out at sea with you, I was taking them pretty regularly. Then, as most things do, it got better with time. I started needing them less and less. I had enough left that I could have given them to you when you were having… _difficulties_ , but I didn't want to push you too hard. I knew it would only make things worse if I was suddenly offering you meds.” Stan nodded, understanding _exactly_ what his brother was saying. If Bill had been in his mind back then, an offer of sleeping pills wouldn’t have gone over too well. Ford had shifted his attention to the icy soil beneath them. “I should have told you about all of this earlier, instead of dropping all of this on you today, and I’m sor…” Stan cut him off, both hands landing on his brother’s shoulder, and Ford turned to face his brother. This time, Stan was gonna be there for Ford, and not the other way around.

“Look, bro - I’m not gonna tell you that you should have told me anything. That was your business, and everyone deals with their own problems in their own way,” Stan said. “We trust each other, right? I mean, I trust that you know how to handle _any_ of this supernatural stuff better than I do. Can you trust me that I’ve been through enough of my own shame not to judge you for any of yours?” Ford slowly nodded, a small smile marking his tired face. “Now listen to me - we’ve got some weird little gnomes, er, _elves_ , to catch, and I didn’t get dragged all the way out here just to waste our chance to meet ‘em! So let’s get going, huh?” At that moment, Ford couldn’t help but think that Stan would have made a wonderful drill sergeant if he wasn't so anti-establishment - when it counted, he could get you on your feet again, better and stronger than ever. Ford nodded, pulling out the weirdometer from his pocket and sniffling back ‘sappy’ tears.

“You’re absolutely right,” Ford stated, wasting no more time as he quickly dialled in the signal again. It emitted a loud and promising beep. “And we’re close - let’s not waste our chance!” And with that, Ford ran off towards the cliffs. Stan grinned as he ran to catch up with his brother. Funny... how he was the one running to catch up now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can just imagine Stan yelling off after Ford, "And no more sad stories until at least March!" 
> 
> And it's true... That was the last of some much needed conversation between the brothers about a lot of things that've been building - their trust issues mostly. The pen has a mind of its own sometimes, and it seemed to lead to a more talk-y chapter this time around. Next time... not so much.
> 
> I've also realized that, similarly to online dating, I should probably respond to your comments instead of just creepily reading them and smiling to myself! Your comments are such a joy to read - please keep your theories and thoughts coming! And this time I'll actually respond to them! Lol 
> 
> See you next week... (maniacal laughter)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford finally meets the Huldufolk, while Stan goes off on his own...

Chunks of half-solid ice crunched under Stan's boots as he tried to catch up with his brother, who he could see was now pressed up against the base of the enormous cliff above them, the waterfall just up ahead. Even in the dreary weather, it was an impressive sight to behold. The multi-coloured cliff face was covered in hundreds of refracted rainbows from the light bouncing off the falls and from the patches of ice at the base.

"Since _when_ … did you _get_ … so _fast?"_ Stan panted, his hand finally pressing against the cliff wall in relief as he caught his breath. Ford hushed Stan for a moment as he slipped on the goggles and headset to scout for any sign of the Huldufolk, but everything looked normal.

"This isn't adding up…" Ford murmured, taking in the weirdometer's readings again. "This seems to be indicating a large amount of weirdness energy right around here, but I can't hear or see anything irregular…" Stan peered over his brother's shoulder, when he noticed something on the ground.

"Uh, that right there looks pretty irregular to me," he said, pointing to a small footprint lowered into the stone like wet cement.

"Stanley, that's it!" Ford exclaimed hushedly, kneeling down to take a better look. "It's an elf-sized footprint! It must trigger some kind of alarm system for a hidden entranceway!" Ford stood up and carefully pressed the toe of his boot into the tiny footprint, and the stone sunk under his weight. Both brothers grinned in success, waiting for something to happen… only to be disappointed when nothing did.

"Huh…" Ford said to himself, looking around through the googles. Everything was still normal. He powered down the headset, not wanting to waste the battery. Stan seemed perturbed by something.

"Do you hear that?" he asked, turning his head a bit. Ford stopped and listened too.

"I don't hear anything," Ford answered, but Stan still looked insistent, turning towards Ford.

"Exactly - I don't hear anything either. Shouldn't we be hearing the rush of water or something? You know, from the _waterfall_?" Stan questioned. Ford looked out towards the falls and realized immediately that his twin was right.

"Stanley, look! The waterfall, it's receding!" They both watched in awe as the water slowly but surely stopped flowing, revealing something behind it that looked almost like _a tunnel._ Ford could barely contain himself as it all became clear - they'd been behind the falls the whole time! _Genius!_

"Well, I think you can take it from here, poindexter," Stan said as he patted his brother on the shoulder and slipped off the knapsack, dropping it at Ford's feet. "I'm gonna go get those 'water samples' from one of the hot springs I've heard so much about - Helga said there's a real nice, quiet one behind the cliffs." Ford chuckled as he pulled his brother in for a hug.

"Sounds good. I'll send you a message on the walkie talkie when I'm about done and, if you've dried off by then, you can come in and meet the elves yourself!" Ford said, passing him one of the walkies from the bag. Stan stuck the communicator in his jacket pocket, looking awkwardly to his brother.

"You think you could put in a word for me? Ya know, about my head and all? I was thinking, since they're so spiritual and everything… they might be able to tell if _you-know-who_ is really gone," he asked quietly. Ford nodded.

"Sure, Stan… but honestly, I don't think either of us have anything to worry about on that front," Ford assured him, smiling. Stan shot him back a matching one, his mind quiet and back to its regular state of occasional swear words and dreams of pirate glory. And now he had a nice, quiet hot-spring to look forward to, and maybe even some weird little elves to meet afterwards. Things were looking up.

As Stan made his way across the ice towards the hot-spring, he mouthed 'good luck' to his brother. Ford waved back, slipping the bag onto his shoulder as he watched his brother disappear around the bend. Ford eagerly rubbed his hands together - time to get to work! On that note, he turned on both parts of the headset again. Now he'd be able to see and hear whatever wa...

"FREEZE! STOP WHERE YOU ARE!" a loud, deep voice exclaimed. Ford jumped at the sudden noise, and looked down to see several elves of varying sizes already surrounding him and pointing appropriately-sized pitchforks at his legs. _Had they been there the whole time?_ A few more were pointing little spears in Stanley's direction, at the ready to fire if necessary. The elf who's voice he'd heard was standing just behind the soldiers. He had a short mustache, and was wearing what looked to be a general's uniform. He might have appeared more threatening if he didn't look like an adorable eight year old. "Drop the device! Hands in the air!" Ford did as the general elf said, cringing a bit as the weirdometer tumbled to the ground, and raised his hands. One of the taller, lankier soldiers warily confiscated the device, slipping it into a burlap sack evidence bag. Hopefully they'd let him take it home when Ford left. "State your name and purpose!" Ford cleared his throat a bit, his hands still in the air.

"My name is Stanford Pines, and I'm a paranormal researcher who's come to learn about your people and your culture, if you'll have me," he stated, his headpiece instantly translating his speech into a frequency their species would understand. He was thankful he'd spent so much time on the translation feature - it worked brilliantly on both ends. _Perhaps he could even_ _sell a patent for it to_ _fund their next trip…_ The general narrowed his eyes, looking to the soldiers and scoping out the situation.

"Follow me," the general stated, and the soldier elves held their pitchforks a little higher as they prompted Ford to follow after the general. The small group watching Stan decided he was far enough away to not be deemed a threat, and fell in line with the rest of them, moving in swift formation towards where the waterfall had once been.

After a few minutes of tense marching, they arrived at the mouth of the tunnel. Ford looked around at the stone walls of the tunnel in amazement - it looked like it had been naturally formed this way… _incredible._ As he looked back towards the entrance, the water suddenly resumed its regular flow, falling back like a curtain to conceal the elves' home from prying eyes. Ford wondered to himself how many other humans had stumbled across this before, and had decided to keep it to themselves. He realized it must be something _worth protecting..._

He was quickly proven right in his thinking - the colony was much larger than he could've imagined, and he broke into a wild grin. It was practically a _small town_ contained in the deepest cave he'd ever seen, all lit by glowing crystals covering the ceiling. The goggles revealed hundreds of elves, all wearing what looked to be eighteenth century clothing. Some elves stood at less than a foot tall, while others, to Ford's surprise, loomed at nearly eight feet tall like beautiful giants. Children, some as short as only a couple of inches, laughed and played, while farmers tended their crops and herded sheep. Some of the elves simply stood and watched, cautious, as the human entered their town. Ford quickly noticed there were markings on the walls of the cave as well - words that, in Icelandic, would roughly translate to 'groceries,' 'clothes,' and even 'worship.' It was just as people said - the Huldufolk made their homes and business and even temples _inside_ pieces of stone! _Absolutely fascinating!_

The elves suddenly stopped marching, settling in the center of what looked to be the town's square, which was marked by a small staircase leading to a raised platform. A large crowd had formed around the square, all staring up at Ford anxiously as someone ascended the steps. Ford assumed it was to be the elves' leader. As she settled onto the platform, Ford realized why the platform was raised so high - she stood at less than four feet tall, and looked similar to the general - an ethereal child of immense authority that directly clashed with her young appearance. She had wide, bright green eyes, and long chestnut coloured hair tied back in an intricate braid marked with wildflowers. On the platform, she came to about the same height as Ford. She looked to him, and then to the soldiers.

"At ease," she instructed calmly. The soldiers and the general stamped in place, lowering their pitchforks. The leader looked to Ford with an easy smile. "My name is Gardenia - I am the chief representative of this colony. I assume that strange apparatus on your head allows you to see and hear us?" Ford nodded in response, brimming with questions. "Curious… we've never seen this technology before. It must work quite well, for you of all people." Ford raised one eyebrow owlishly.

"Uhh... yes, I suppose it does," Ford answered carefully, trying hard not to take that the wrong way...

"Oh, please know that I don't mean to offend!" she clarified, waving her hands in protest. "The Huldufolk are very in-tune with the spirituality of others. We can sense their auras, and feel good or evil presence. You seem like a smart man, and a sensitive man, but not one of inept perception of the spirit." Ford couldn't argue with that - at least they'd called him smart. "The general has informed me that you seek understanding of our culture. You are free to wander our town and meet our citizens to gather knowledge for your records. However, you must solemnly agree not to disclose this location in your reports, for the safety of the colony." Ford nodded eagerly.

"Of course not! I certainly know how important privacy can be - I won't write a word about the location," Ford swore.

"There is also the matter of the person who accompanied you here. I assume he's your brother…" Gardenia stated, trailing off a bit.

"He's my twin," Ford answered eagerly. "He's gone off for a while to collect water samples from the spring nearby, but I was hoping that, with your permission of course, he'd be able to meet some of you before we leave. He's very excited about it," he said. Gardenia looked towards the general, who was scowling.

"Unfortunately, we cannot let him in here - only you, Stanford Pines," she spoke, her tone suddenly quite serious. Ford frowned.

"If it's a matter of security, I can assure you that he'd be no threat to your people, and it would mean a lot to him to…"

"My answer is final. You may document your findings, talk with as many of the Huldufolk as you wish, but you may not bring your brother into our dwelling," she concluded, turning away from the podium, but not before Ford had something to say.

"What is it to you if _one more_ person, a kind and _trustworthy_ person that is, that only wishes to improve human relations with your kind, comes in here for just a few minutes?" he demanded, at a loss for words. Gardenia sighed. "Look, I know he's pretty much the opposite of spiritual, but…"

"Human, stop your prattering," she said, her eyes squinted shut as she rubbed her temples. "I'll strike a deal with you like we've always struck with humans. I will trade you the knowledge you seek, in exchange for a product of your own knowledge. Let our scientists keep the device we seized from you outside the gate, and I will explain everything." He considered the offer - it's not like he couldn't build another one, though it would take a couple days…

"Fine," he agreed, and the leader nodded, looking to her general as he passed her a long, wooden staff. Ford watched curiously as she circled it through the air, wisps of smoke gathering and eventually forming into a large, sparkling cloud above the entire square. An image was becoming clear within the cloud, like some kind of window into the beyond. As the picture became clearer, Ford was speechless as he realized it was his brother, shirtless and happily soaking in the hot spring. The elves lining the square screamed at the sight of him. Ford rolled his eyes as he turned around to face them.

"Oh come on! Everyone takes their clothes off to soak in the hot springs! And he's not _that_ out of shape, we're not exactly spring chickens you know!" he protested, motioning to his brother, who stretched his arms above his head, the hair in his armpits longer than the hair on his head. Even Ford cringed a bit at that. Gardenia shook her head, though, glaring intently at Ford.

"It's not his body that they're afraid of, Stanford Pines. It is his spirit," she explained, and with another wave of her staff, dark purple waves began radiating from his brother's form. Ford furrowed his brow as he stared at the omninous haze, none of this looking like _anything_ he'd ever seen before. The towns-elves were still hissing and cowering from the image.

"I don't understand, my brother is a good man!" Ford shouted over the crowd. Gardenia looked sympathetic, clutching her hands.

"I don't doubt you, but as you can clearly see, his aura is clouded by something…" she trailed off, looking fearfully into Ford's eyes, "...inherently _evil._ "

No _… no, it couldn't still be…_

Ford's eyes were wide as he stared at the image in disbelief. All this time… all this time _Cipher_ had still been in there. Watching them… listening to _every conversation…_

This was all just a game to him, and Stan was his hostage… _nothing more than a pawn._

And then it dawned on Ford that Stan was all alone.

 

* * *

 

Stanley sunk deeper into the warm water, curling and uncurling his toes as he breathed deeply, more relaxed than he'd felt in ages. There were no worries - the sun was setting, his brother was off documenting weird, invisible people, delicious chocolate liquorice was sitting comfortably in his stomach, and it seemed like _Bill_ was finally out of the picture, for good.

The walkie talkie had been quiet so far. It figured - Ford was probably gonna be in there for a while. But Stan didn't mind so much, sinking comfortably onto the stone base of the natural hot tub. His mind drifted numbly as he let his eyes close. One more day and the two of them would be flying home to Oregon, seeing the kids, and Soos, and Wendy, and Waddles… he'd have to remember not to make anything for the holidays with _ham_ in it.

The world faded away as Stan verged on the edge of sleep. Ford would be alright, and it'd be nice to get a quick nap in now before his brother radioed him on the walkies and woke him up. Birds chirped and the spring bubbled… all was well with the world as Stanley Pines finally fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

 "...What is he doing? What is he _doing?!_ " Ford suddenly exclaimed as he watched his brother's eyes droop shut. "No, no, _no!_ _Bill_ … he _planned_ this! He planned this _all along!_ "

"What is it? Who planned _what?"_ Gardenia asked, trying to stay calm while Ford's anxiety skyrocketed. The elves began to back away from him, sensing how alarmed and frightened Ford had become as he rifled through his bag, searching for the walkie talkie. He finally grabbed a hold of it, pressing down the call button frantically as he yelled into it.

"STANLEY! STAN, IT'S ME, WAKE UP!" he shouted into the device, but it simply crackled in response. It seemed like there was some kind of interference coming from the cave. He looked up to the shimmering cloud-screen over the square, hoping that somehow the message would get through, but nothing happened on Stanley's end of the line.

"What's happening? What's happening with you brother?" Gardenia questioned, confusion and sympathy overriding cold authority as she turned to Stanford with earnest concern. Ford breathed deeply, trying not to panic.

"The 'evil' energy coming off my brother… I believe it may be indicitive of a dream demon that's been haunting my brother's mind for some time, and he may be trying to hurt or even _possess_ my brother, but I don't know _how_ or _why._ He's been waiting until Stan was vulnerable and _we were separated_ and…" Ford stopped his rambling thoughts in their tracks as an idea suddenly struck him, the idea illuminating like a super-charged light bulb. It was a long shot, but perhaps there was a chance. Ford turned to face Gardenia, a strange, determined calm coming over him as he said, "I've read that the Huldufolk are able to enter people's dreams. Is this true?" Gardenia looked uncomfortable with the question.

"Yes… but only as a means of sending warnings, like for that of a natural disaster, or to thank humans for gifts they've left to help our kind," Gardenia explained cautiously. "We project our spirits into the mind of the human we wish to communicate with." She looked sternly to Ford, suddenly realizing what he was asking of her. "But I will _not_ endanger myself or my people by throwing our spirits into the path of a demon!"

"Of course, I would never ask you or your people to risk their lives. I also know you that don't owe me anything more, but… would you be willing to help me project _my_ spirit into my brother's mind, so I can try to stop the demon before something terrible happens?" he asked, practically begging her. Gardenia looked unsure. "Please, it may be the only way." The elf looked to the human, biting her lip as she considered, the crowd and Ford all holding their breath as they hung on her every word.

"This has never been attempted by a human,  _but…_ your devotion to your brother reminds me of the fierce protection we Huldufolk share for one another. We will help you save your brother," she answered with a small smile, her people cheering at the response as Ford stuck out his hand to shake her small one.

"Thank you, thank you so much. I won't forget this," Ford said gratefully, looking back over to the cloud-screen. His brother looked strangely still as he slept. _Sleep paralysis had already taken hold._ He had to hurry.

"Bring forward the sacred items!" the leader proclaimed. Ford watched as the soldiers passed along a heavy chest from elf to elf. The general received it last and removed whatever was inside, ascending the steps to pass it to their leader. She held the objects gingerly, looking to Ford as she passed the first one to him.

"Take this, and hold it to your heart," Gardenia instructed, passing him a heavy, iridescent blue stone a bit larger than his palm. It didn't look like any stone or mineral he'd ever seen, shimmering like water under the crystals on the ceiling. He clutched it with both hands, doing as she said and holding it firmly to his fast-beating heart. Without another word, she placed a crown of pale yellow wildflowers onto his head. Something felt different suddenly, like he'd been connected to some great, unseen power. "Close your eyes, and concentrate on your brother's face. I will speak the words, and you repeat them." Ford nodded, his hands shaking around the stone as Gardenia began to recite the words. This had to work. _It had to..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay getting this chapter up, but it was worth it because it's gonna be a DOUBLE UPDATE! As in, the last chapter of Part 1 is going up on Sunday!! After that, I'm going to need a few weeks to compose the next story arc... big things are coming. See you then... >:)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion of Part 1 - the stakes are raised as Ford tries to finally banish Bill from Stan's mind...

_The room was on fire._

Stan blinked a bit in confusion as he took in his surroundings. He was dreaming, he knew that for sure, because he was back in the room that had plagued him for so many weeks.

_He was not doing this again._

Stan grumbled to himself as he looked around for the door, the only light in the room coming from the hungry blue flames. Amidst the growing and shrinking shadows, the blue light bounced off something metallic - bingo. He walked towards it, wondering to himself why he'd never tried to look for a door before - it seemed obvious, really. The flames swelled as they momentarily lit up the exit, and Stan stopped in his tracks at the sight of it.

There _was_ no door, but rather a pile of burned wood and ashes, the doorknob, warped by the heat of the flames, shining brightly in contrast atop the rubble. Stan hesitantly reached out to touch the piece of metal, glinting strangely in the light, only to pull away quickly as the searing hot object burned his hand. He shook it off angrily, kicking a piece of the wood in retaliation as he swore under his breath. There had to be another way out of here… he'd just have to start looking. At that he turned around, and jumped suddenly at the sight of a familiar face staring back at him.

"Ford?" Stan spoke, confused as he looked at his equally petrified brother facing him, pointing a ray gun directly at Stan's chest. "What are you doing in here? How'd you... I thought you said… wait a second, is this a dream or are you really..."

"I can't answer any questions until I know it's really you, Stan," he responded sternly, aiming the gun a little higher. Stan raised his hands cautiously, backing up a little. They both jumped as a piece of wood splintered under Stan's foot. Ford raised his voice, trying to steady his nerves. "How do I know you're not Bill?" Stan frowned.

"Hey, I could ask the same of you!" he retorted, narrowing his eyes. "And back off with that thing! You're gonna give me a heart attack!" Ford didn't move.

"A personal question should sort this out - something Bill wouldn't know," Ford said, quickly thinking of a good one, his finger resting on the trigger. "What did Mom used to call the pizza delivery boy?" _Really?_ Stan rolled his eyes.

"Ugh… Mr. Tony _Hot-eroni,_ " Stan murmured begrudgingly. That was one memory he wished had _stayed_ lost. Ford breathed a sigh of relief, looking satisfied as he lowered the gun. He went to move towards Stanley, but Stan stopped him in his tracks. "Uh-uh," he said, putting up a hand to halt his brother's footsteps. "If you get to ask me an embarrassing question to test my identity, then I get to ask you one too." Stan racked his brain for something Bill wouldn't know, finally landing on a good question. "What was our first cat named?" Ford sighed annoyedly.

"Trick question - we never had a cat because you're allergic," he answered. Stan sighed as he let his guard down. Ford's ray gun clattered to the ground as they pulled it in for a brief, relieved hug.

"I'm so happy to see you, Stan," Ford said, pulling away from Stan and glancing around cautiously, picking up the ray gun again and pocketing it, just in case. "I'm sure you have some questions…" Stan chuckled, scratching the back of his neck.

"Yeah, that's an understatement," he responded awkwardly. "I'm guessing this isn't some regular old dream, huh?" Ford shook his head, looking around the room inquisitively.

"It's not a dream at all, Stan. We're in the mindscape, within your subconscious," he explained, the flames growing higher and throwing flickering shadows over the two men. "The Huldufolk have been entering people's dreams for centuries, and thankfully, they extended their knowledge to me and helped me enter your mind by… you know what? It doesn't matter, we're wasting time and Bill could be plotting his next move as we speak..."

"Wait a second, I'm not done with the questions!" Stan cut his brother off, crossing his arms. "And this one's kinda important: what the hell happened to _'Bill's not in your mind anymore'_? You told me just this morning that you couldn't follow him into my mind last night with your weird… _magic spell,_ because there was no one to follow!" Ford squeezed his fists, letting them go with a sigh.

"I was wrong," Ford lamented, looking away as he scowled. "The elves tipped me off to it when I asked them about you. As to why the incantation from the journal didn't work… I think I may have cracked that one," Ford said as he took a step forward, the room growing slightly larger as his foot hit the ground. He started to walk towards the center of the room, Stan walking alongside him as he looked around at the ever expanding room in awe. "The incantation I used was created to follow an invasive demon into the mindscape. That's the key word here, Stan - _invasive_. It seems like Bill has been trapped in the recesses of your mind, specifically your subconscious, since I tried to erase him with the memory gun. He's been in here for so long now that I fear the worst may be happening - Bill may be starting to merge with your subconscious." Stan recoiled instantly at the thought of it. _Bill forever a part of his mind…_ it was bad, to say the very least.

"That might explain why I was feeling so weird," Stan said, thinking back on how he felt only a few days ago. "What I don't get is why he got so quiet after I told you about what was happening to me." The flames grew higher as they walked.

"My guess is that he was likely trying to 'play it cool,' so to speak, in order to lull you into a false sense of security," Ford hypothesized. "Whatever his plan is, my guess is that he's about to carry it out any minute now." Ford stopped moving and glanced around at the enlarged room, his brows knitted in a frown as he looked towards the flames. They flickered and grew as the fire spread down the walls and caught on the floor, slowly but surely spreading throughout the room. Stan drew a bit closer to his brother as they watched the flames move closer and closer, encircling the brothers, a bright blue ring of fire dangerously inching towards them.

"What do we do?!" Stan asked, eyes wide. Ford seemed equally perturbed, the heat coming off the nearing flames palpable as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

"He's trying to force me out… We have to hurry," Ford murmured, turning to Stan desperately as he rested his hands on the twin's shoulders. "Stanley, listen to me: I have a plan, but it rests entirely on you. I need you to conjure a memory for me - can you do that?" Ford asked. Stan pulled away a bit, raising an eyebrow.

"...which memory?" he asked carefully. Ford sighed.

"I need you to conjure the memory of… when we failed to perform the zodiac," Ford said, glancing away uncomfortably. "Look, I know it's not exactly pleasant to remember…"

"Yeah, no kidding," Stan said quietly, also avoiding his brother's gaze. "I don't exactly _enjoy_ remembering the moment when my being-an-ass almost got our whole family killed."

"Stan, stop," Ford said, looking back to Stan as the flames flickered, his shoulders drooped. "We both share the blame for what happened that day. This plan, though, Stan - it's going to fix all of that. That's the beauty of it, but we have to act quickly." Stan looked towards the flames that were steadily inching towards them, and back to his brother's furrowed brow. If this plan was the only way…

"What do I have to do?" Stan asked resolutely. Ford smiled, letting out a tense exhale.

"You're going to conjure the memory of when we tried to form the zodiac, but this time, we're going to do it right. We're going to step into the memory and manipulate it to perform the zodiac right here, _within your mind,_ " Ford stated. Stan was speechless."I believe the power generated should be enough to banish Cipher from your subconscious, but we have to act quickly. Can you do it, Stan?"

"So you're saying… we'd get to redo the whole thing together," Stan asked slowly, still a bit shocked. Just the idea of both of them getting to redeem themselves… it was almost too good to be true. Ford smiled as he nodded.

"What do you say, Stanley?" Ford asked, placing a six fingered hand on Stan's shoulder with a sincere smile. "All you've got to do is _shake my hand."_

 

* * *

 

Ford's eyes burst open as he caught his breath, looking down at his shaking hands clutching the stone, and up at the walls of the cave. The elves looked on in confusion as the human looked frantically to their leader.

"...I couldn't get in," Ford uttered, unsteady on his feet as the cold, harshness of reality grabbed hold of him, the yellow crown of flowers falling from his head in what felt like slow-motion. Compared to the reality he had occupied just moments ago - flying over the fields of ice, looking down from above at Stan's sleeping figure in the spring… It all seemed like some kind of incredibly vivid dream. "I don't understand what went wrong… I could see his face, and I could feel his heart beating, but it felt like something was keeping me out. It was like… it was like I was running into an invisible brick wall." Gardenia furrowed her brow.

"This has never happened before," she muttered, carefully taking the stone from him and inspecting it thoroughly. Nothing appeared to be wrong with it, and she'd heard him say the incantation perfectly. "And you say this is the second method you've attempted thus far to enter your brother's mind?" Ford nodded, numb. "Curious indeed… it's almost as if the gateway has been damaged."

"Gateway?" Ford asked, raising an eyebrow. He felt like he'd heard the term used somewhere before...

"Yes, the gateway into the mind," Gardenia said, elaborating. "It's the portal through which beings or souls may enter and exit the mindscape of an individual. It's not a tangible structure, but in humans it usually physically manifests itself as some type of door."

"But that doesn't make sense," Ford argued. "I know from _personal_ experience that an intruder can choose to exit a mindscape anywhere and anytime they wish!" The leader shook her head, though.

"You needn't take it so literally, Stanford Pines," she explained, then elaborated. "You must understand - the gateway is just what _allows_ beings to enter and exit the mind. It can, in essence, be anywhere at anytime. Think of it as an omnipresent trans-dimensional highway, of sorts. It's highly uncommon, but sometimes the gateway can be damaged if the inflicted being has suffered from some kind of trauma to the mind." Ford's head was spinning as he tried to keep up. There had _certainly_ been trauma; it's not every day that a memory-erasing gun reeks havoc on your mind.

Perhaps, though, there was a clue - something Ford could follow to find the truth. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the journal, flipping through the pages of notes he'd taken a couple days ago when Stan had finally spilt the beans about what had been happening to him. There had to be something in here that would lead him to an answer. Ford's eyes flickered to words he'd underlined or circled.

 **AXOLOTL** , and an arrow pointing to simply XOLOTL, with a small definition written underneath: _'God of twins, misfortune, sickness, monsters, and deformities.'_

 **BLUE FIRE** , and a note beneath it from Stan: _"Same fire as the kind from the memory gun."_

Ford's memory shot back to the first time Stan had told him about Bill's death within Stan's mind. Certain words stood out in the forefront of his thoughts … those damned blue flames, a paddleball… and a _door that slammed shut, trapping Bill inside._

Ford's eyes suddenly grew wide as something clicked into place.

"If the gateway is damaged, and no one can _enter_ my brother's mind…" Ford spoke slowly, his heart suddenly beating hard in his chest, "... then wouldn't it stand to reason that _no one could leave it either?_ " He looked up to Gardenia, fear blazing through him.

"Go to him," Gardenia spoke urgently, realizing at once that something terrible was about to happen. "Leave your bag here and go, it will only slow you down. You have our word that we will watch over your things while you're gone. You may still have a chance to wake your brother up, but you must hurry." Ford nodded gratefully to the leader, who turned to face the guards at the entrance. "Raise the waterfall!" Ford swiftly grabbed the walkie talkie from the bag and shoved it in his coat pocket, and slipped off the headset to fetch later. The elves and their voices echoing through the cave faded away as he moved towards the slowing wall of water, lit by the ethereal glow of the crystals.

The falls had barely slowed down as Ford burst through them, soaking him completely as the moonlight hit him on the other side. He glanced around quickly, breathing hard, as he tried to remember which direction Stan had gone off in before he left for the springs. Ford unzipped his coat pocket, grabbing the walkie talkie and pressing down the button as he yelled into it.

"STAN! WAKE UP, STANLEY, IT'S ME!" He waited… no response.

He grit his teeth as he started to run, his clothes slowly freezing to his skin. The faint outlines of the northern lights danced on the horizon, along with the rising moon and a frigid evening wind. Ford shivered as he ran, searching for Stan's footprints in the cracked ice, and practically cheering when he found muddy footprints in the same size as his own making their way to the other side of the cliff.

"I'm coming for you Stan, just hold on a little longer," he muttered to himself as the ice cracked beneath him with every step. _"I'm coming."_

 

* * *

 

Stan looked on quietly as the memory of the zodiac flickered over top of the bright blue blaze. Dipper, Mabel, Wendy, Soos, that horrible little blonde girl… all of the circle members stood holding hands as the memory played out. _Ford_ and Stan looked on as the memory versions of themselves began to squabble. Stan groaned.

"Please tell me we don't have to watch this go on any longer than we have to," he grumbled, turning away from the scene as he closed his eyes.

"We don't - it's time to put our plan into action," Ford replied smoothly, waving his hands as the two dream Stans vanished, leaving only trails of smoke. Stanley turned back to look at the strange scene, the remaining circle members all looking to Stan with bright smiles. Ford, taking his place in the circle, looked over Stanley, frozen in place. The flames inched closer. "Come on, Stan, we don't have much time!" Stan sighed wearily as he stared out at the smiling faces in the circle. Even Gideon looked weirdly happy.

"I don't mean to repeat history or nothin', but... I'm not sure about all this," Stan confessed, looking out at his empty symbol space on the wheel. "How do I even know if any of this is real? How do I know that _you're_ real?"

"Stan, listen to me," Ford said intently, letting go of Robbie's hand and turning towards Stan desperately. "We have a chance here to make this right, to finally get Cipher out of your subconscious, but we have to do it _together."_ Stan still looked unsure. Ford smiled sympathetically as he walked off his spot in the circle and over to where Stan stood, placing a hand on his shoulder comfortingly.

"I'll make you a deal, Stanley," Ford began, and Stan looked up to meet his brother's gaze, Ford's glasses fogged. "We shake hands like men and do this right, and get Bill out of your subconscious, and I'll throw you the biggest party you've ever seen right here, in the mindscape! All you'll have to do is sit back and enjoy the show!" _The offer was certainly tempting,_ Stan thought. "You've never partied in the mind before, have you, Stan?" Ford raised an eyebrow playfully. Stan smiled bashfully, shaking his head.

"Can't say I have," Stan replied, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Maybe... you could introduce me to that crazy, satanic St. Patrick's Day thing you were talking' about earlier?" Ford laughed while the zodiac members whooped and hollered their approval at the idea.

"I don't see why not!" Ford responded with a hearty chuckle. Stan looked to his twin and to the others in the circle. Mabel shot him an eager thumbs up, biting her lip in excitement.

"Let's do it, bro," Stan smiled, the two of them making their way to their spots on the zodiac. "Together."

 

* * *

 

Ford wiped the frozen sweat from his brow as finally spotted the hot-spring in the distance. He picked up his speed, just short of sprinting. His breath caught in his throat as his foot suddenly slipped on the ice, and he fell hard to the ground. He cursed as he picked himself back up, his front covered in cold mud, and grimaced as he took another step. He'd hurt his leg on the fall. Ford gritted his teeth as he started limping towards the spring.

"Bill, you _bastard,_ " he spat as he wiped the mud from his glasses. "You're not taking Stan down without a fight!"

 

* * *

 

Soos smiled giddily as Stan took his hand in the circle. The outline of the zodiac began to glow as Ford took Robbie's hand again, the circle close to complete. The flames grew around them, closing in quickly on the group. The circle members glanced around, scared as they looked to Stan.

"Grunkle Stan, you have to hurry!" Dipper cried from across the circle.

"Yeah, Mister Pines. I'm not the biggest fan of big, scary flames," Soos said uncomfortably, inching forward a bit as the flames edged in on his feet.

"Are you ready, Stan? Ford asked, holding out his hand. The flames grew higher. Stan went to look down at his brother's hand, but Ford stopped him from doing that, catching Stanley's chin before he looked down. "Stan, look me in the eye. After everything we've been through the last couple weeks, you have to know you can trust me," he said. The flames stood taller, closing in on everyone. Panic was rising as Stan grimaced. He was _not_ going to be responsible for messing this up _twice_. Ford was right. He did trust Ford, completely - how could he not after everything that had happened? Ford smiled, trying to stay calm as he looked into Stan's eyes. " _Let me in, Stanley._ Let's do this right."

 

* * *

 

Ford panted as he gripped the stone edge of the hot spring, desperately catching his breath. As he moved around the side of it, the stone wall surrounding the spring sloped down. Ford sighed thankfully as he finally saw his brother, his hands clasped behind his head, his eyes closed. He was exactly the same way Ford had seen him when he'd tried to enter his mind. It wasn't too late. Stan was still asleep - there might be enough time to…

" _Tsk, tsk, Fordsy,_ " a terrifyingly familiar voice mocked as Stan's arms lowered to his sides. Ford backed up, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'm _so_ disappointed. I really expected more from you..." Bill slowly opened Stan's eyes, the yellow, slitted orbs shining in the dark as Ford recoiled in horror. Bill grinned wildly, soaking in every bit of Ford's _delicious_ terror. He'd waited _oh-so long_ for this moment, stretching out luxuriously in the hot spring as Ford barred his teeth, wincing as he clutched his injured leg. Bill laughed as Stanley struggled within his captured mind, to no avail as he was pulled back, screaming, into the depths of his own subconscious.

_"Oh, reality… it is good to be back!"_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it folks, the long awaited conclusion of Part 1! Bill is out in the world as possessed Stan, Stan himself is a prisoner, and Ford is powerless, soaking wet, and injured! Yay! I hope that was as fun to read as it was to write!
> 
> So, on a sadder note, I'm going to need a few weeks to piece together the arc of Part 2, and act on some other priorities in my life right now. I'm thinking it's gonna be around the beginning of May when I'll post the first chapter of Part 2. Until then, let me know in the comments what you're thinking, and don't forget to leave some much appreciated kudos if you liked what you read!
> 
> Adios till May! Oh, and sorry-not-sorry for the cliffhanger! Reality is an illusion, the universe is a hologram, buy gold, BYE!!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill plays.

**PART 2**

 

“AHAHA! Oh, you should have _seen your face!_ Priceless!!” Bill gloated, doubled over in Stan’s body, shaking with laughter as Ford stood there, agape.

This couldn’t be real. Bill was supposed to be gone. _He was supposed to be DEAD!_

“Jeez, you look _awful_ , Sixer. Relax a little, would ya? It’s not like anybody’s died…” Bill smirked. Ford’s nostrils flared as he balled his hands into fists.

“I’LL KILL YOU, CIPHER! I’LL KILL YOU AGAIN!” Ford exclaimed, his shaking growing more extreme as the cold wind froze his wet, muddy clothing to his skin, chilling him to the bone. Bill just laughed.

"Oh, come on now, Fordsy. We _both_ know you won’t be doing any killing tonight,” he said, languidly stretching out in the hot-spring. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to hurt your _precious brother_ , now would you?” Bill raised an eyebrow, a smug grin plastered on Stanley’s stolen face. Ford thought he was going to be sick.

“ _What have you done with Stanley?”_  Ford snarled, jaw clenched.

“Stanley’s taking a well-deserved ‘ _break’_ at the moment,” Bill said casually, leaning back as he drank in Ford’s intense distress. “Anyway, I didn't take this rotting-meat-bag your brother calls a _body_ by force - Stanley shook my hand and _let_ me into his mind, just like _you_ did back in the day.” Bill chuckled as Ford sputtered in response, and Bill slowly stood up in the hot water. Ford breathed hard as he reached into his jacket, pulling out his ray gun from his inner pocket and pointing it at the demon. “Whoa, there! _I just said_ you wouldn't want to hurt your brother’s body-”

“You’re going to _tell me everything!”_ Ford demanded, keeping the gun pointed steadily at Bill as he watched him dry off. Bill rested the towel over his newly acquired shoulders as he laughed, reaching for the pile of Stan’s clothes.

“Sure I am! But not because _you_ told me to,” he replied snidely, awkwardly slipping his wet feet into the pant legs of Stan’s slacks. “How could I, after all, _possibly_ resist regaling you with the tale of the last three, _miserable_ months in the prison that is Stanley’s subconscious that you subjected me to?” Bill’s head finally slipped through the neck hole of Stan’s sweater.

“So you’re trying to take revenge on Stanley and I, then?” Ford speculated fearfully, backing up a bit as his now fully dressed, possessed brother started moving towards him. Ford kept the gun raised, his hands shaking as Bill got closer.

“ _Revenge_? No… I didn't do _all_ this work to wrestle control from Stanley _just_ for revenge on you twins, though it certainly would be _fun,”_ Bill proposed. He smiled as he continued to move closer to Ford. “Am I making you _nervous_ , Ford? It's just me, your brother!”

“Not another step, Cipher! Or I shoot!” Ford exclaimed, his finger on the trigger. Bill cocked his head and smiled condescendingly, taking another step forward.

“You won't shoot,” he replied confidently. “You wouldn't want to _actually_ hurt Stan.”

“I have it set to stun mode,” Ford informed him, with a slight smirk. “All it will do is knock you out.” Bill laughed.

“Thanks for telling me,” he said, and he quickly swiped at the gun, knocking it out of Ford’s hand before he could even blink, the gun skidding across the ice. With a slight push, Bill knocked Ford over and onto the ground. With minimal effort, Bill pinned Ford down, shaking his head in disbelief at how easy that had been. Ford struggled with what little energy he had left, but it was no use. Bill grinned hungrily, narrowing his eyes. “I've been waiting a _long_ time to do this.” Bill’s fist collided with Ford’s jaw, and he was out like a light.

 

* * *

 

 _“Ughh… where am I?”_ Ford mumbled, adjusting his glasses as he warily took in his surroundings. He was still alive… _Had Bill trapped him in a cave? Buried him in the snow never to be seen again??_ No… he was sitting on something plush, and the air was _warm._

“Oh thank goodness, you’re awake!” a female voice cooed. Ford looked down to see a seat belt across his lap and a window to his left. _A car?_ He looked ahead to see silver hair peeking out from the car headrest in front of him. It was Helga. _Of course!_ Ford suddenly remembered that Helga had offered to pick Ford and Stan up around 8:00…

_Stan!_

Ford looked slowly to his right, his brother sitting beside him, silhouetted by the streetlights outside the car window. For a moment, he hoped and prayed that it had all been a bad dream… The car rolled to a stop at the lights, and Helga turned around to look back at Ford.

“Stanford, your brother told me you took a hit from a wild reindeer!” she said in her thick accent, taking a look at his swollen jaw, a nasty purple bruise blooming upon it. “You must get some ice on that when we get back, and let me disinfect your cuts.” Ford looked up and down at his arms and legs, his clothes wet and tattered, small cuts shining red against the muck.

“It was horrible,” Stan’s voice said from beside him. Ford almost jumped at the sound of it - it was his _brother’s_ voice, not Bill’s! Stan’s eyes were closed, shaking his head. “I barely got him out in time.” The traffic light changed to green and Helga turned back to the front. As soon as the car started to move again, Stan smiled as he opened his eyes - bright, sickly yellow. Ford gripped the edge of the seat, a silent scream echoing through his mind.

The bastard had Stan’s voice down to a _science_.

“So rare that people are attacked unprovoked… terrible,” Helga said as they turned a corner. Ford’s eyes shot back to her headrest, his mind racing at a hundred miles a second. “Did you at least find what you were looking for in the spring?” Bill smiled as Ford sat there, frozen. “Stanford?”

“Uh, yes…” Ford said slowly, trying not to sweat under his puppeted brother’s glare, “and something… _else,_ as well.” Bill stifled a laugh.

“Well, at least something good came of it,” Helga said, her eyes steady on the road.

“I just hope there's some some of your amazing stew left! I'm starving,” Bill said in Stan’s voice, not skipping a beat. The two of them began to chat away like everything was normal, while Ford sat there like a statue. From the look of the landmarks outside the window, they were, at best, five minutes away from the inn.

Ford rapidly considered his options. It's not like he could tell Helga, or _anyone_ , that his brother was being possessed by a _psychotic_   _dream demon_. If anything, she'd think Ford had hit his head harder than they'd all thought. Saying something like that in public could land him on a no-fly list, which was _not_ an option.

It was nauseating enough to think about _flying home_ with Bill at his side.

Ford’s first priority at the moment was to tell the kids what was happening, without Bill catching him in the act… There was a computer in the common room that Ford could use to get in touch with them once everyone in the inn had gone to sleep. He wasn't very good at using the interweb yet, but Dipper had shown him how to use video-messaging software before they'd left. This was the kind of news that had to be delivered face-to-face, as dreadful as that seemed. He’d just have to be careful sneaking down to the computer - if Bill caught wind of it, there'd be serious consequences for all of them, and Ford could only speculate on what Bill _really_ wanted from him.

Helga pulled into the gravel driveway. She went to open Ford’s door, but Bill insisted, in his perfect Stan grumble, that _he'd_ take care of his _brother._ There was no question as to who was in charge now. Bill had Ford right where he wanted him, and they both knew it.

 

* * *

 

Brossi, the couple’s sheepdog, had been growling at Bill since he walked in the front door. Arthur put it up to Stan smelling like an angry reindeer, and set off to make the twins each a warm cup of tea. While Helga applied disinfectant to Ford’s wounds in the kitchen, Bill slipped away to the washroom for a moment of respite. Plus, he actually _had_ to go the washroom - this long-term possession thing was going to take some getting used to.

Before he dealt with that issue, however, he decided to _check in_ on a certain somebody _._ He rolled his eyeballs back into his head, turning his attention _inside._

 

* * *

* * *

 

Stanley was just as Bill had left him - unconscious in a heap on the floor, and imprisoned in the same, electric-blue triangular cage Bill had trapped him before. This time, though, Stanley Pines was _very_ much alone. For good measure, he’d also shackled Stan’s ankle to the floor. It was a look, Bill found, that really _suited_ the Pines twins.

Bill looked about the mindscape prison, admiring his handiwork. He’d finally been able to remodel the space to take on the appearance of the Fearamid. He’d even reassembled his massive throne of frozen-human-agony, even if it _technically_ wasn’t ‘real’ anymore. The new set-up suited him much better than the tired walls of the shack he’d been limited to before.

It seemed like so long ago when he’d thought those walls, and Stanley Pines’ face, would be the last things he’d ever see… until he’d found himself alive, if only by a thread. Xolotl could be such a drama-God, making Bill do all the work like that. Not only to piece himself together, but to piece together _every damn one_ of Stanley's memories, charred and nearly destroyed by the fire. If he neglected a memory before it was recovered, he'd feel himself fading away. Manual labor inside the mind of his killer, in exchange for an imprisoned life without meaning: _seemed like a rip-off to him._

Then, suddenly, he realized that good old Xolotl had given him a golden opportunity. Escape was possible, perhaps, with Six Fingers’ help, and in the meantime, he'd be able to satisfy his lust for revenge on the Pines twins - perhaps _both_ sets. If he failed, however, he'd be bonded to Stan’s subconscious forever. Demons weren't meant to persist inside someone else’s mind for long periods of time, not to mention one with a soul _already_ residing in it. Bill could practically feel the clock ticking - if he stayed in there much longer, he’d be absorbed.

_It wasn't much of a choice._

Stanley stirred from sleep, Bill refocusing on his _tenant_. Stan’s leg yanked against the heavy chain in reflex as he awoke. His eyes shot open and darted around, as if he'd suddenly remembered what had happened, and that it _hadn't_ all been some horrible dream. Bill had seen it a million times - that look of realization, the grip of fear, as his pawns suddenly grasp just _how screwed they really are_.

Humans were so predictable.

Stan’s vision hazed, his blood running ice cold as he struggled to take everything in. This felt too real to be a nightmare, and yet the surroundings were the same. Once again, Stan found himself in the triangular cage, its nonsensical pattern glowing so brightly that it was making his eyes water. _Once again_ , Stan found himself trapped in the Fearamid, its murderous red light filling him with dread, both familiar and terrifyingly new at the same time. The crisscrossing steel beams marking the walls should’ve been covered in frost, it was so frigid in here… or maybe that was just him.

And that’s when he saw it.

Stan stared up, horrified, at _his own, possessed eyeballs_ , bright yellow and with slitted pupils, staring down at him. They were the size of UFOs, set into the sinewy, flesh-brick wall before him - the wall where the tapestries of his friends had once hung all those months ago. Bill’s eyes creased upwards as he smiled sickeningly.

“ARGHH!” Stan cried as he attempted to lunge at them, pulling at the heavy chain as if it would break under the sheer force of his will, but it didn’t budge. Stan grimaced as it actually _tightened_ against his ankle. “You’re a _monster!_ Let me outta here or I’ll…”

 _“You’ll WHAT?”_ Bill taunted him, his giant, possessed eyes flashing blood red, casting a bright beam against the cage with Stan’s fez symbol blackened like a pupil in the center. Stan resisted the urge to shrink back, squinting against the light as he fearfully held his ground.

“I’ll… I’LL…” Stan realized he didn't have an answer to that question. _Ugh!! Why’d he always have to be so stupid?! If he hadn't been so damn stupid he wouldn't have_ gotten himself and Ford into this mess in the first place! How could he have not seen all the _signs_ , all the _pandering_ to his ego?? Not to mention those _stupid_ identity questions - _of_ _course_ Bill would’ve known the answers! Bill had been stuck in his subconscious for three months, what else was Bill gonna look at except all the _stupid_ memories that _he_ probably saved? And _Ford_ … he could just imagine what the demon was going to put _him_ through, and there wasn’t a _damn_ thing Stan could do about it... He sighed, angry tears budding in his eyes as he sunk down to the ground, defeated, trying to at least get comfortable on the hard stone floor.

“You’re done, then?” Bill asked cockily, the room returning to its regular state of eeriness. Stan simply nodded. “Good. Here, have a pillow as a reward.” A small, yellow pillow suddenly materialized before Stanley, squeaking as it landed on the ground by his feet. Stan eyed it cautiously, before finally deeming it wasn't a threat. He promptly snatched it up and scooched it under his butt, sighing with instant relief. “So, you gonna _thank_ me for that, or what?”

Stan stared at the giant eyeballs in complete disbelief.

“Oh, excuse my _terrible manners!_ ” Stan started off, a cheery smile marking his face in mock apology. “Thank you _sooo_ much for _IMPRISONING ME_ inside my _OWN MIND_ , and giving me a _freakin’ CUSHION to sooth my_ _SORE, REAR END!!_ ”

“Fine, no pillow it is,” Bill said nonchalantly, and it disappeared with a faint _*snap.*_ Stan’s face fell as Bill made his exit, his eyes rolling forward in his skull. _“L e t  m e  k n o w  i f  y o u_    _w a n n a  t r y  a g a i n  l a t e r.”_

 

* * *

* * *

 

Someone was knocking on the bathroom door.

“Five minutes!” Bill answered in Stan’s voice, staring at the toilet and trying to figure out how in the _hell_ this thing worked…

 

* * *

 

The stairs creaked as Ford and Arthur made their way up the stairs, Ford’s arm sloped over Arthur’s shoulder as he tried to avoid stepping on his injured leg, bandaged and treated by Helga for what had felt like an eternity. He winced as the two men transitioned to the flat ground of the top floor, Ford’s room just down the hall.

“I can take it from here, Arthur,” Ford managed, shifting his weight onto the banister. Arthur didn't look convinced, but nodded anyway as he turned to go back downstairs.

“If you need anything, just call down,” he said, smiling kindly as he saw him off, Ford hobbling down the hallway. “ _Góða nótt!_ ”

“Góða nótt!” Ford returned, waving goodbye and forcing a smile as he reached the doorway. The stairs creaked as Arthur’s shadow disappeared down the winding steps. As soon as he was out of view, Ford swiftly shut the door and locked it, quickly finding himself wishing that there was a bolt on the door as well. His breathing quickened as he slid down onto the floor, gripping his knees to his chest.

Bill was in the house. If Ford refused Bill what he wanted, Bill could threaten Helga and Arthur... He could cut off one of Stanley’s fingers _just for fun_. He could…

“You’re not very _observant_ , are you, Ford?” said Bill, the lamp in the corner clicking on to reveal Stanley already comfortably seated in the adjacent armchair, a cup and saucer balanced on his lap. Ford gasped as he scrambled up against the door, banging his head on the wood. Bill snickered. “I mean, _really -_ you’d think after all that ducking and dodging from the law in-between dimensions for _thirty_   _years_ that you’d be a bit better at scoping out the area you _sleep in_!”

Bill waited for a reaction - a frightened retort, a movement for the window, anything… but he didn’t get one. Ford simply stared at him, swelled-up shiner and all, his gaze hardening as he looked away and sighed.

“What do you want, Cipher?” he asked, tired. Bill arched a brow, setting his saucer onto the nightstand and crossing one leg over the other.

“Skipping the bargaining stage and moving straight to _depression_ , are we?” he inquired, resting his head in his hand, his elbow perched on his knee. Ford shook his head, letting out a small disdainful snort.

“We both know there’s no bargaining with you,” Ford replied bitterly.

“You’ve got a point there, Sixer,” Bill chuckled, wagging his finger, still to no reaction. He crossed his arms. “Gee, you’re really _bumming_ me out here, Ford. You’re not very much fun when you’re like this.”

“You think I should be having _fun??”_ Ford replied forcefully, suddenly whipping around to face him.

“And we’re back to _stage_ _two_!”

“Enough!” Ford exclaimed, hushing himself a bit so no one came upstairs. “You could have killed me back there if you’d wanted to. You never change, Bill - I _know_ you want something from me, and I’m guessing it’s to _get you out_ of my brother’s mind.” Bill reached for the saucer again, smiling to himself as he set it on his lap.

“Glad to see you’re following the bouncing ball,” Bill said, taking a careful sip from his teacup. “Yes - that’s _exactly_ what I want from you, Fordsy. I suppose my trail of proverbial-bread-crumbs was enough for you to figure out that the gateway out of Stan’s mind is _ruined,_ and that’s why I have the _immense_ _pleasure_ of still being here.” Ford swallowed the lump in his throat.

“I want details,” he said simply, the world numb as he met Bill’s gaze stoically. Bill grinned, excitedly rubbing his palms together.

“Oh, _finally!_ I’ve been just _itching_ to gloat all about how _gullible_ your brother was when I…”

“ABOUT THE DOOR!” Ford seethed. Bill laughed as Ford’s face twisted in anger - _hilarious!_ Ford squeezed his eyes shut, composing himself as best he could, and continued. “I… I want to know _why_ the gateway was so damaged, but not Stan’s memories.” Bill looked down, briefly swirling his tea.

“You may be aware of a little _incantation_ I thought of in the heat of the moment, _literally_ ,” Bill recalled, painfully, as he remembered the searing heat of the blue flames, biting at his ankles. He shook away the memory - _useless_. Ford nodded curtly as he recalled the backwards message Stan had told him about - the one that mentioned Xolotl. “It saved me from death, and I, in turn, saved Stan’s memories! You know, speaking of which, you really should be _thanking me_ for…”

“ _Stay on topic,”_ Ford said sternly, narrowing his eyes. Bill sighed. _No fun at all..._

“Unfortunately, I was a bit too late to save the first thing to go up in flames - the portal out of Stanley’s mind. It’s nothing but ashes now...” Bill concluded, swirling the last bit of his tea before downing the rest.

“So you want me to create some kind of device that can get you out, I suppose? An _artificial gateway_ , of sorts?” Ford asked bluntly.

“ _Specifically_ one that will take me back to my dimension,” Bill clarified, raising his index finger in the air. Ford scoffed, shaking his head.

“You must think _very_ little of me if you think that after _everything_ you put my family through, the _whole TOWN_ through, that I’d give you a golden ticket home,” Ford said, his gaze ice-cold as he stared through the demon. “Just so you can try your luck on some _other_ naive scientist who you can persuade to do your dirty work for you, only for you use them to try and take over the universe again. Yeah _, right._ ”

“Oh please, I’m _DONE_ with your stinking dimension. Too messy, too many people in my way,” Bill answered, glancing downwards as he thought back, bitterly, on all his hard work that had gone straight down the toilet _._ “I’ll try my luck in some other dimension, one where _your_ _family_ doesn't exist and can't stop me again...”

“And subject another dimension to your idea of _freedom?_ I don't think so,” Ford responded. Bill forcefully set down his saucer on the bedside table, pushing himself off the chair. Hands clasped behind his back, he turned towards the window, the northern lights cascading over the hills.

“You know, for a fellow inter-dimensional criminal as _notorious as yourself_ , I didn't think you’d have such a problem with letting me escape so I can take over another dimension you have _no part of_ , in exchange for your brother’s life,” Bill said. “I thought Stan was a little more _important_ to you than that…”

“ _Of course he is!”_ Ford protested, leaning against the door as he slowly stood up, grimacing in pain. “But I’d be responsible for the misery of millions, even _billions_ of people! What kind of psycho do you think I am?!” Ford exploded, balling his fists at his sides.

“Hey, you’re already responsible for the misery of millions of my followers who’re mourning my untimely death!” Bill said, turning his head back to Ford with his hands over his heart. “Anyway, you’re forgetting that you’re not exactly in a position to _barter_ with me. I don't _have_ to give Stanley’s body back, you know…” Bill said slyly as Ford’s face fell. “I could run off with this body _right now_ and commit atrocious crimes under Stanley’s name! And there's _no_ _way_ you'd ever see him again...” Bill smirked, his eyes electric. Ford clenched his jaw, thoughts of Stanley never coming back, _trapped forever in his own mind_ flashing before him. He couldn't… he _wouldn't_ let that happen! Bill had played him for a fool… _no_ , he’d been playing them both right from the beginning.

“I never even had a choice, did I? Stanley and I are just your _hostages_ ,” Ford spat.

Bill chuckled dangerously as he turned on his heel and started walking towards to Ford, who immediately backed up against the door as Bill's footsteps fell heavily on the wood-paneled floor. Ford's heart-rate skyrocketed as Bill slowly got closer and closer, his brother's body silhouetted against the ethereal, ever-shifting green light streaming through the window. The demon stopped right in front of the terrified man, raising his hand to Ford’s eye level, as if he was about to strike him. Ford resisted the urge to cringe, staring brashly into Bill’s yellow eyes, daring him to _do his worst._

Bill brazenly patted Ford twice on the cheek, the man instantly recoiling from the demon’s touch. Bill smiled at Ford’s immense discomfort. Now _this_ was more like it.

“Aw, cheer up, Fordsy!” Bill said, finally backing off to Ford’s immediate relief. “This is gonna work out for both of us! I get to escape from this _flesh-prison_ , and you get your beloved brother back! All we have to do now is get back to Gravity Falls,” he finished, plunking himself down on the edge of Stanley’s bed. Ford’s eyes widened.

“ _Absolutely not!”_ Ford shot back. There was no way in _hell_ he was going to endanger the kids by bringing their _possessed Grunkle_ home for Thanksgiving. “I’ll build it here, out of the materials from my inventions back in the cave. I'll need to stay up and make blueprints tonight…”

“Hey genius, I think you’re forgetting a pretty big detail,” Bill interrupted him, rolling his eyes. Ford looked to him, confused. “The weak spot between our dimensions is _in Gravity Falls_ , remember?”

Ford’s stomach sunk like a stone. _Bill was absolutely right._ The only place they’d be able to do this would be back in his workshop, underneath the shack…

“I’m going to have to postpone Thanksgiving with the kids…” Ford grumbled, and sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “ _If I do this,_ and get you back to you own dimension, you have to promise not to lay a _finger_ on Dipper and Mabel, or me, or _Stan_ , for that matter,” he said threateningly. “Or _the_ _deal’s_ _off_.”

“Ugh, fine,” Bill sighed dramatically, sticking out his non-flaming hand as per usual. Ford stared incredulously at him.

“I’m not shaking your _damn hand, Cipher!!_ ”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HIATUS OVER!! And ohhhhhh man was it FUN to finally let Bill outta the cage he's been festering in! Hope it was worth the wait :)
> 
> Also, I'm kinda freaking out cause the story reached 1000 hits! Thank you guys so much!! <3
> 
> So we're looking at a 1 and a half - 2 week schedule for chapter releases, depending entirely on how busy I get in the upcoming weeks, which I suspect is going to VERY. I will try my best though! 
> 
> As always, please leave kudos if you like what you read, and leave your comments below! I read em all and respond to em too! Thanks again, and "sEE yOU rEAL sOON."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanford sends a desperate message, and Stanley makes some new friends.

An uneasy silence filled the room, the depths of which the _bottomless pit_ couldn't rival, as the two ‘men’ stared at one another, waiting for the other’s next move on the metaphorical chessboard.

“Well! I’m going to sleep,” Bill stated, happily breaking the silence. “Do you humans still take part in that stupid sleeping clothes ritual? That never made any sense to me…”

“I'm _not leaving_ ,” Ford practically growled. “If you think I’m going to leave you alone with Stan’s body for _eight hours…_ ”

“Who said I did?” Bill retorted, shrugging nonchalantly. “Besides, I might need some help! It’s been a while since I tried sleeping in a human body. Last _I_ recall, it was when I possessed you, and I woke up next to that _Fiddleford_ guy…”

“That's enough!” Ford exclaimed, trying to contain the furious blush that marked his face, turning him beet-red. Bill laughed as Ford struggled to maintain his composure. “I'm not helping you - I’m going to _watch_ you, and make sure you don't do anything dangerous during the night.”

“Fine by me, _roomie,_ ” Bill practically sang, pulling up the sheets haphazardly and crawling in like a spider underneath them. “But since you _did_ specify that no harm was to come to Stan, _I_ get the bed.” Ford rolled his eyes.

“I won't be doing much sleeping anyway,” Ford mumbled, and he winced as he walked across the room to the armchair. He took a deep breath before dragging it back across the room, setting it down with a thud next to the door. He carefully eased himself onto it, the plush fabric at least being kind to his bruised flesh.

“Would ya mind getting the light there, Ford?” Bill asked with a little smile. Ford clamped his jaw shut, keeping an obscenity from ringing out through the entire house. He reached up and swiftly flicked off the light, the room filling up instead with the green tint from the aurora borealis just outside the window.

Ford’s skin crawled as silence filled the air again. He looked over to the bed - Stan’s body was stiff as a board as Bill attempted to sleep in it. Ford almost laughed at how mummy-like he appeared, consumed by the tightly wrapped sheets like ancient bandaging on Egyptian pharaohs… he shuddered at the image it conjured. Comparing his brother's stiff, unmoving body to a mummified corpse was _not_ doing Ford any favors.

Now it was simply a waiting game. Ford glanced down at his watch, glowing faintly in the darkened room. 12:17 AM. Just a couple more hours and Bill would be deep within an REM sleep cycle… he hoped. Then Ford could sneak downstairs and send a warning to the kids, and be back in time before Bill discovered he was gone. He wondered just how long it would take before Bill was truly out for the night...

 

* * *

* * *

 

The Fearamid was inexplicably quiet. No rustle of the wind, no ticking clock… nothing but the sound of Stan’s own breath and the occasional jangle of his his ankle-chain to keep him company.

_Bill could’ve at least put a TV in here or something…_

A TV would've been a nice distraction from the storm of swirling, thunderous thoughts that clouded Stan’s mind, keeping him wide awake on a the cold, stone floor of this prison. He would give _anything_ to change the channel… to stop thinking about what kind of kind of fresh hell his brother was enduring on the other side of these walls… unless Ford really was _on the other side_ by now...

_Stop it, Stan! You can't think like that… Ford wouldn't want you to think like that!_

He jumped as the room suddenly began to shake, and looked over to the flesh-wall as Bill’s giant, yellow eyeballs slowly rolled back into the room, and quickly turned their attention to him.

_Ugh, this again…_

“What do you want, Bill? Come back to rub my sore butt in my face?” Stan managed to smirk as he stared indignantly into the bright yellow eyeballs, though he couldn’t help the way he shivered under Bill’s gaze.

“I just wanted to inform you that I'm going to sleep now,” Bill said, narrowing his eyes in annoyance at that _last comment_ , “so I thought I’d provide you with some _company_ while I’m out for the night.” With a snap, two of Bill’s disturbing friends appeared just outside of Stan’s cage - the one that looked like walking pair of dentures, and the tall, creepy green one with eight balls for eyes. Stan tripped and fell back in shock as the green one grabbed the bars of the cage and shook them, laughing as Stan struggled to catch his racing breath. He was suddenly _very_ thankful for the barrier between him and the rest of the room.

“Meet Teeth and Eightball! Well, they’re not _really_ Teeth and Eightball, since we’re both trapped in here, but you get the gist,” Bill said as the two monsters turned to face his giant eyeballs on the wall.

“What do you want us to do, Boss?” Teeth asked, his little arms swinging around excitedly.

“Just keep an eye on our guest here 'till I get back,” Bill instructed, before doing a double-take. “Wait a second, Teeth, you don't have any eyes, how do even _see…_ ”

“Bill, doesn't this seem a bit like overkill?” Stan interrupted him, eyebrow raised as he stood back up and brushed himself off. “I mean, I’m already shackled and in a _freakin’_ _cage!_ What could I possibly get up to that could warrant these two bozos watching over me too?”

“ _Don’t question him!_ ” Eightball roared in Stan’s face, making him jump again.

“You guys can take it from here,” Bill said as he yawned again, but this time it sounded real. “I'm off to face the highly-unpleasant state of human unconsciousness! See you guys in the morning!” With that, his eyes started slowly rolling forward again.

“Wait!” Stan yelled out, his ankle pulling on the chain as he tried to catch the demon’s attention before he left. The eyeballs halted and rolled back to face him.

“ _Yes?_ ” Bill asked tiredly. Stan looked away from the demon’s glare, finding the strength to finally ask the _bastard_ the question that had been on his mind from the second Stan had woken up in here, but he hadn't dared to ask… until now.

“Is… is my brother alive?” he asked quietly, his eyes squeezed closed, terrified of the answer.

Bill burst out laughing, the entire room shaking as Teeth and Eightball joined in. Stanley lurched and tried to steady himself as the floor bounced underneath him.

“ _Of course_ Stanford is alive! Who do _think_ is going to get me out of this rotting skin-puppet, _YOU?”_ Bill finally answered, and the weight of the world finally fell from Stan’s shoulders as he breathed a heavy sigh of relief, trying not to get emotional all over again. “I may have _roughed him up_ a little, but…”

“You did _WHAT?”_ Stan exclaimed, his chest puffing out as his blood positively _boiled_ . Bill glanced down worriedly as Stanley’s shackle turned bright red, and started _melting off of his ankle._ Bill quickly rectified it, hoping Stan hadn't noticed. He narrowed his eyes at the man before taking a firm hold of the situation once more.

“HEY, YOU’D BETTER WATCH IT!” his voice positively _boomed_ , and Stan and the monsters all slammed their hands over their ears as the voice echoed throughout the room. “If you don't fall in line, _the_ _same thing’s gonna happen to you!”_ Even though Bill knew that the pesky deal he’d made with Ford prevented him harming Stanley, that didn't mean that _someone else,_ like Eightball or Teeth, couldn't straighten Stanley out. “GOODNIGHT!” And with that, Bill’s eyes rolled forward and out of the room, leaving nothing but stretches of optic nerves and sinewy flesh in their place. The second he was gone, the monsters turned to face Stan, grinning mischievously.

“Uhh, evening, fellas!” Stan smiled nervously, sweating a bit. “Anyone got any cards?”

 

* * *

* * *

 

Heavy-lidded, Ford checked his watch again - 2:35 AM.

Stanford held his breath as he carefully stood up and tiptoed over to the bed. Stan’s, _Bill’s_ , breathing was slow and steady. Biting his lip, he waved his six-fingered hand a few inches over Stan’s possessed face. No reaction.

Time to move.

Ford slinked back over to the door and _slowwwwly_ turned the the doorknob. He inched the door open until the gap was just wide enough for him to slip through... and then he was out. He left the door slightly ajar so it’d be easy to slip back in later.

The house was pitch black, but thankfully his eyes had adjusted to the darkness after all this time sitting in the darkened bedroom. Now all Ford had to do was get down the stairs without alerting anyone to his presence… which would difficult, as he knew the stairs had a tendency to creak. Just to make sure, he lightly pressed his foot to the first stair, testing how much weight would set it off. He pressed the ball of his foot onto the top stair...and flinched immediately as it let out a squeak. Ford gritted his teeth in frustration as he tried to come up with a solution to this.

 _He could always slide down the banister…_ he almost laughed at the idea, it seemed so juvenile. He wasn't exactly eighteen anymore. It could work though, provided that he didn't lose his balance and fall off on the way down... The more he considered it, the more he could practically _hear_ Stanley’s voice in his head egging him on to _do it._

He sighed as approached the banister, awkwardly, and painfully, swinging his right leg over it and gripping the wide piece of lacquered wood with white knuckles. _He couldn't believe he was actually doing this…_ He squeezed his eyes closed as he slowly loosened his grip on the banister, bit by bit, using just enough pressure to allow him to ever-so-slowly slide down. So far so good… As he came to the curve in the staircase, he readjusted and started to slide down again, easing up on his grip a bit as he slid to the bottom of the staircase. _Ha, this was actually kind of fu -_ his breath caught in his chest as his legs suddenly dangled off the railing, his feet grazing the floor.

Ford swallowed the lump in his throat as he lurched forward to set himself down onto the ground. That hadn't been so bad! It had actually been a nice distraction from _…_ from the _nightmare_ he was living. He shivered as he took a quick look around, with a paranoid glance up in the bedroom’s direction as well. There was no one in sight - perfect.

Light on his feet, he tiptoed over to the common area, where a desk with a gleaming computer monitor atop it sat. Ford took a deep breath as he took a seat in the rolling office chair, and pulled himself towards the desk. He’d used this computer once before to send an email to the kids, but he'd only gotten through that with some help from Helga. This… this was going to be tricky. He pressed the ON button.

And the loudest start-up music he’d ever heard blared from the speakers.

Ford gasped as he clammered to turn the volume on the speakers all the way down, hoping to _God_ that no one had heard that. The computer started up, the screen bathing him in bright blue light as the computer woke up from hibernation. Ford squinted as his eyes adjusted to the bright screen, and widened them as he was met with a message asking him to enter the password.

_Damn it!_

Ford struggled to remember the password Helga had passed along to them the first time he and Stan had used the computer back in September. _Come on, come on… think!!_

An idea struck. He entered the letters on the keypad: B-R-O-S-S-I.

And he was in! He breathed a sigh of relief as he watched all the computer programs load, searching for the video-chat one Helga had shown him briefly all those months ago. He grinned as he found it, moving the mouse to click on the ‘Skupe’ icon.

Now to log in. He still remembered the username he shared with his brother, StanSquared, but the password was a different story. He and Stan had somehow argued and compromised their way to a very long, complicated Cipher - he entered _TQP-BOL-SCG-CM-ROPPCHR-TOPPOL._

Ford clicked the 'go' button, and it brought him to the contact page, where Mabel’s username was displayed before him, or rather, a series of what looked like modern-hieroglyphics. _Kids these days…_ The symbols seemed to depict various sparkles, hearts, and a unicorn next to several blazing fires. He found himself chuckling as he thought back to that whole unicorn escapade...

The unicorn escapade to _keep Bill out_ . And now, Bill was back in their dimension, _again_. Ford had failed... and now his brother was probably being tormented by the demon as Ford sat there, petrified, with his head in his hands.

He shook away the thought as best he could, straightening his back and trying to stay focussed on the task at hand. He was moments away now from delivering some really, _really_ bad news to the kids… and he had _no idea_ how he was going to do it.

Perhaps… perhaps he didn't _have_ to tell them at all. If Ford could handle the situation before the kids came to Gravity Falls for Thanksgiving, maybe they didn't need to know. After everything those kids had gone through with Bill… perhaps it would be kinder to let this all fade away. He could just send them an email, telling them that their Grunkles had to delay Thanksgiving, or cancel it altogether.

But then he thought of Bill, and how easy it would be for him to contact the kids and trick them.

Ford pressed the CALL button.

He sat there biting his lip as it rang through to the other line, waiting for someone to pick up. California time, it was almost 9pm. Hopefully Mabel would see the cal…

“GREAT UNCLE FORD!” Ford’s grand-niece exclaimed as the video signal switched over to a view of Mabel’s room, blocked by Mabel’s smiling face bobbing in and out of frame in excitement. Ford chuckled as Mabel ran over to her open bedroom door, poking her head out into the hallway. “DIPPER! GREAT UNCLE FORD IS ON THE VIDEO-CHAT DOO-DAD! GET YOUR BUTT IN HERE!”

Ford could see most of Mabel’s room from the camera’s perspective - bright pink walls, blow-up furniture, motivational posters with cats on them… exactly what he had come to expect from his grand-niece. Mabel’s head ducked back into the frame, still bouncing excitedly. He wondered just how many shots of that horrible concoction she called ‘Mabel Juice’ she was on...

“Great Uncle Ford! You _never_ video-chat us! What's going o-WAHHHHH!!” she suddenly exclaimed, pointing to the screen in horror at what Ford could only assume was his swollen, purple jaw and various scrapes. He sighed as worry overcame the sweet girl. “ _What HAPPENED to you?!?_ Did you get in a fight with a crazy troll or something?? Are you and Stan fighting again?” she asked suspiciously with a cocked eyebrow.

“Did I hear that Stan and Ford are _fighting_??” Dipper asked worriedly as he skidded into the room, slipping across the hardwood in socked-feet. Dipper had grown a bit in the three months since Ford had seen the boy - he was a bit taller now, and his voice was cracking more than usual too. “What did I mis-AHH!! Great Uncle Ford, your FACE!! What _happened_?? Are you okay? And where's Stan? Why isn't he with you?”

“I, uhh…” Ford trailed off, his nerves starting to get the better of him from the barrage of questions, ones that had some very unpleasant answers. This was it - no turning back now. He sighed heavily, the weight of the news he was about to share _crushing_ him as he stared blankly at his grand-niece-and-nephew’s concerned, expectant faces. “I have some… _bad news._ You, uh… you might want to close the door."

 

* * *

 

The twins stared blankly at the screen as they struggled to take in what their Grunkle had just told them. Tears were budding in Mabel’s eyes, and Ford could see Dipper’s fists clenched tight atop the desk, his head hung low as his hat obscured his face. Ford could barely look up at the screen.

“I’m so sorry…” he finally muttered, trying to stay strong for the kids as his whole body trembled. “It’s  _my_ fault this happened at all. If only I had figured out what was going on _sooner_ …”

“Don't you _dare_ blame yourself!” Mabel exclaimed insistently, sniffing as she squeezed her eyes closed, trying to keep the tears from falling down her cheek. “This _isn't your fault_ , Grunkle Ford… _none_ of this is.” Dipper finally looked up at the monitor.

“What can we do to help?” he asked stoically, the boy’s gaze hardened. Ford met it as he finally cut to the chase.

“I need you to tell everyone in Gravity Falls about what's happened. We can't afford to let anyone be tricked by him. If Bill wants revenge, the only person he's going to be able to get it on is me.” Ford said. Both twins nodded uncomfortably. Mabel sighed as her head plunked onto the desk.

“I guess Thanksgiving is cancelled, huh?” she asked glumly. Ford nodded.

“I’m sorry Mabel, but I can't put you kids in danger. I won't have you two in the same room as that demon ever again. Hopefully, after all of this is done, our dimension will have seen the last of him.” Dipper looked away.

“You’re really going to let him go, aren't you?” the boy asked quietly, his disapproval more than evident. Ford sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I don't have a _choice_ , Dipper,” he exhaled heavily. “Do you think I _want_ Bill to go free after everything he’s done?? But what's the alternative? Have him stay in Stan’s mind, and have this game of cat-and-mouse go on forever??”

“If only Bill _was_ a mouse. Then we could just trap him in a mouse-trap!” Mabel pouted, slamming her small fist on the desk. Dipper suddenly looked to his sister.

“Mabel, say that last part again?” he asked, wide-eyed. Ford could already see the gears in the boy’s mind cranking into high gear.

“Trap him in a mousetrap?” Mabel answered curiously. Dipper shot up and almost fell off his chair, scrambling to grab hold of the desk before he lost his balance and adjusting his hat as his face lit up.

“Mabel, that's it!! We can _trap_ _him in a mousetrap!_ ” Dipper exclaimed. “And the portal out would be the _cheese!”_ Mabel looked totally confused.

“Sorry bro-bro, ya lost me,” she said frankly, seriously starting to question her brother's sanity, but Dipper was only growing more excited as he locked eyes with his great-uncle from across the monitor.

“Great-uncle Ford, you said you’re going to build a device that can act as an artificial gateway out of Stan’s mind, right?” Dipper clarified quickly. Ford nodded. “And _what tricked Bill_ when we finally defeated him during Weirdmaggedon?”

“Bill thought he was getting what he wanted, but he was too arrogant to see the truth for what it really was…” Ford trailed off, starting to understand what Dipper was trying to say. _“The cheese…”_

“Yes!!” Dipper exclaimed as he and his uncle were starting to get on the same page. Mabel suddenly slapped her hands to her cheeks and gasped in realization.

“Ohmygosh, ohmygosh! So when _Bill_ goes for the _cheese…_ which is really _the portal_ … whammo!!” she blurted out as she banged her fist on the desk again for effect. Dipper nodded excitedly as the two of them looked to their Grunkle.

“It’s perfect,” Ford said, his heart swelling as he looked back at the kids, prouder than ever. “Thank you, _both_ of you. If I wasn't four thousand miles away right now, I would wrap you both in a giant, if not suffocating, hug!” The kids laughed along with their Grunkle as Ford was suddenly filled with a shred of hope. _He might actually be able to pull this off!_

 

* * *

 

Bill smiled from the top of the stairs, hidden in the long shadows of the staircase.

“He’s going to be so disappointed…” Bill sighed to himself as he drummed Stanley’s fingers on his lap, before finally standing up and slipping silently back into the bedroom, his narrowed eyes glowing in the dark.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The keyword is STANOWAR - see if you can figure out the password ;)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill and Ford spend some 'quality' time together, and Stan takes a gamble.

“ _FORD!”_

_Stanford whipped his head towards sound of his brother’s strained voice. He looked around - where was he? Everywhere he looked was an endless stretch of whiteness… of nothing._

_“Ford, you gotta help me! Please!” Stanley’s voice cried again, the desperation like that a drowning man. Where was he?? Ford spun around in place, until Stan appeared in front of him, just a few steps away._

_Ford reached out for his brother, smiling as he took a step forward, only to balk as the floor seemed to stretch out before him. Another step… and Stanley cried louder._

_Ford broke into a frantic run, his brother desperately calling out to him, his voice reverberating off of invisible walls. With every step Ford took, Stanley only grew further and further away. As the air grew colder, the white floor beneath Stanford froze and became thick, freshly fallen snow._

_Ford trudged on, shivering as he caught his breath, waist deep in snow that was slowly freezing into solid ice. He couldn't stop now… not when his brother needed him! Stanley’s cries only grew louder, filling Ford’s head like water._

_**“Alright, Ford, time’s up!”** _

_Oh no… !!_

_Ford panicked as he tried to leap forward, only to be wrestled back by extensions of Bill’s arms, coiling around him like ravenous vipers and pulling him down through the snow. His cries mixed with those of his brother’s as the snow melted and shifted beneath him, turning into sand._

_The coils were gone, and Ford’s arms and legs were freed as he swum in the small sea of sand that surrounded him. He could see his reflection before his eyes… in what looked like glass. Ford gasped as he looked up, the glass growing up and outwards before stopping at a heavy, stone lid. He was in an hourglass…_

_Ford banged desperately on the glass barrier as he stared at his brother, standing alone on the white floor outside Ford’s prison. The sun was growing in the sky, and Stan was starting to sweat._

_No, that wasn't sweat… he was MELTING._

_“Ford! HELP ME!!” Stan cried, then gurgled as his skin melted off of his flesh like candle-wax. Ford screamed as he banged harder and clawed at the glass, his vision blurred as tears cascaded down his face._

_Something was happening… Stan’s body was changing shape and growing enormously, taking on a somewhat more... **triangular** appearance. Ford looked up in horror as an enormous, flesh-covered Bill Cipher stood before the hourglass, and something was squirming in his giant, clenched fist._

_**“I've got the kids!”** _

_“No, no, you can’t!! Dipper! Mabel!” Ford cried uselessly, sinking like a stone into the sand._

_**“I think I'm gonna KILL one of ‘em now just for the heck of it!!”** _

_Ford stretched his head up as he tried to keep the sand out of his eyes, being pulled ever downwards, his fate inescapable. Bill looked right into Ford’s eyes as the kids screamed._

_**“EENIE, MEENIE, MINIE…”** _

 

* * *

 

“Morning!”

Ford screamed as he jolted up in the armchair, catching his breath as he frantically scanned the room for the source of the voice.

There was no one there. Sunlight streamed in through the window, lighting the room in calming shades of earthy browns and greens. It did little to soothe the man, though, as a frantic question froze him to his core.

_WHERE WAS BILL?_

The room started spinning and his vision blurred as Ford tried to get a hold of himself. _Where had Bill had gone? When had he managed to sneak out? How long had Ford been asleep??_ It felt like he’d only closed his eyes for a second...

Ford jumped as someone knocked on the door. He shot out of the chair, gritting his teeth as his sore muscles resisted the sudden movement. He swiftly flattened himself against the wall, ready to get the jump on whoever was there...

“Morning, Stanford! It’s Helga! Are you in there?”

Ford let out a heavy sigh of relief as he took a step back, attempted to compose himself, and opened the door. Helga tried to smile, despite the ragged and distraught appearance of her guest. It looked like he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep, and he was still wearing the torn, bloody clothing from the previous night. “We, uh… we didn’t want you to miss breakfast, Stanford! I made American pancakes for your last day here! Stanley insisted that he wait for you to join us before eating - he’s downstairs at the table right now!”

He was _WHAT??_

 

* * *

 

Ford’s senses were on high alert as he moved with trepidation down the stairs, the wood creaking predictably under his weight with every step. Helga had already gone back downstairs as Ford had rushed into his own room, clamoring through his suitcase for a clean change of clothes. There wasn’t much he could do in the way of his bloodshot eyes and bruised face, but at least he wasn't covered in dried mud and congealed blood anymore. He'd wanted to crawl out the window when he’d actually taken a look at himself in the mirror that morning - he looked like he'd been through a _war_.

Which he _had_ , and currently _was_.

The house wasn't on fire… that, at least, was a good sign. Ford peered around the corner nervously as he reached the foot of the stairs, trying to muster as much normalcy as he could as he finally laid eyes on the dining room.

Bill, seated stiffly at the table with an untouched mug of coffee in his hand, practically turned his head 180 degrees as he met Ford’s paralysed stare in the doorway. He grinned toothily at Ford, a vision of the cheshire cat.

“Morning, Sixer!” he chirped as he set down the mug, and narrowed his eyes just the slightest bit, so only Ford could see the smug satisfaction on his face. _“Get much sleep last night?”_

Ford could feel his muscles writhing as he stood there in shock, trying to will himself to walk over and take a seat next to his ‘brother’ at the table... rather than throwing himself at the demon and _beating the living daylights_ out of him instead.

Under Helga and Arthur’s watchful eyes from the kitchen, he chose the former.

Positioning the chair as far away as possible from his possessed brother, Ford took a seat at the table’s edge and coldly answered Bill’s question. “More than I _thought_ I would.”

Helga smiled cheerfully as she set down a stack of steaming pancakes onto the table, along with a jar of honey and a small bowl of whipped cream. Ford supposed they didn’t have _Mountie Man_ syrup in Iceland.

“These look wonderful, thank you, Helga,” Ford said as she and Arthur sat down at the table, before turning to literally _gawk_ at ‘Stan’ as he started grabbing pancakes off the platter with his bare hands and tearing into them like a caveman eating raw meat.

Ford coughed into his fist a bit too loudly and forcefully as he quickly locked eyes with Bill, and proceeded to demonstrate how it was done when you were a _civilised human_. Ford took the silver thongs from the table, used them to drop a couple of pancakes onto his plate, dressed them with honey, and used his fork and knife to consume pieces of it. Bill watched him with wide eyes, trying his best to imitate Ford as Bill fumbled with the thongs. These human rituals were so _needlessly complicated…_

“Have all the arrangements been made for your flight home?” Helga asked as she poured herself a cup of coffee from the carafe. Bill didn't look up from his plate, far too busy slathering his pancakes in whipped cream, and opted to let Ford answer the question. _How kind of him._

“Uh, yes,” Ford responded as Helga passed him the coffee. Ford was going to need twice as much of the brew today by the looks of it, and maybe a flask of some Icelandic liquor for good measure. “The flight leaves at 7:00 tonight, so we need to get to the airport by 5:00 at the latest.”

“You can count on me to give you a ride over there, like always,” Arthur answered them with a kind smile.

“Question,” Bill interjected, his words garbled from the pancake in his mouth. “My poor, injured brother over here had to ditch his bag of science junk yesterday while he was running from the _reindeer_.” Ford bit his tongue as he practically twitched. “Would it be possible to make a stop on the way there before we leave for the, uh... _flight terminal?”_

“No problem at all,” Arthur answered, reaching for more honey. “I can catch up on my boating magazines in the car while I wait for you.”

“We’ll have to be more careful this time, _won't we, Ford?”_ Bill spoke with feigned concern, as he looked over to his brother with a glint in his eye. Ford immediately averted his gaze to the tablecloth, trying to stay calm. Drops of coffee were falling from the mug in his quivering hand, staining the white doilies on the delicate linen. He took a sip, closing his eyes.

It wasn't even like Ford could suggest that he fetch his bag by himself - he didn't trust Bill to be left alone with Arthur in the car. Ford was left without options - he'd be alone, with Bill, out on the frozen landscape again, while Arthur’s head was buried in a magazine.

_Just perfect._

 

* * *

* * *

 

 _“Read em and weep boys!”_ Stan laughed heartily as he slammed his cards down on the stone floor, finally revealing his hand - a royal flush. Teeth and Eightball groaned as Stanley reeled in his pile of chips gleefully. “I am on _fire_ today! Ugh, actually _scrap that_ \- not too keen on that mental picture... You two losers wanna play another round?”

“Hey, we may not be real, but we’re not _stupid_ ,” Teeth chuckled, his ego a little bruised.

“Yeah, you've already beat us, like, six times,” Eightball complained, throwing his cards into the pile just outside the crisscrossing bars of Stan’s cage. Stan reached through the gap and started shuffling the deck.

“Oh, come on, guys! Best seven outta… what’s it now, thirteen? Wait, how would that work with _three people...”_

“We shouldn’t anyway…” Teeth said nervously, wobbling on his little legs as he stood up. “The boss is gonna be back soon. We don’t wanna get in trouble with Bill, fraternizing with the prisoner and all.” Eightball took a quick look around to make sure no one was _rolling in_. Stan found himself sweating as he thought about what _getting in trouble_ meant, exactly.

“You guys wouldn't rat out your good pal Stanley... _right?”_ he asked with a nervous grin, absentmindedly leafing through the deck of cards. The two monsters looked to each other.

“We won't say nothin’ if you don't!” Teeth responded with a shrug. Stan sighed with relief as he took a seat on the ground, leaning back against the bars of the cage, while Bill’s freaks stood guard just outside of it.

The air was stiff as the three of them stewed in silence. Somebody coughed.

“Well, this isn't working for me,” Stan complained. “Quick - somebody crack a joke or something before I lose my mind.” Teeth chuckled under his breath.

“I’m pretty sure you already lost your mind, Stan… Bill’s got it now!” he exclaimed with a flourish of his waving hands.

Stan frowned… before bursting into laughter.

“HA! That’s a good one, Dentures! Ya got me there!” he laughed, wagging his finger at the monster. His smile fell, though, the more he thought about it. “Heh… seems kinda stupid, doesn't it? Having you guys here to watch over me, and a cage and all that, if this isn't even my own mind anymore...”

“The boss is probably just being careful,” Eightball guessed with a shrug.

“Yeah - considering what happened the last time you two were alone in here, Bill probably just doesn't wanna take any chances,” Teeth said, yawning as he stretched out his little legs.

“ _Chances shmances…_ sounds to me like the big guy’s _scared_ of me,” Stan grinned, cocking an eyebrow. The monsters looked to each other nervously. “I wonder if his _big, stupid eye’s_ still sore from old-righty over here.” Stan smirked as he punched his right fist into the pack of cards in his left hand. Teeth and Eightball had grown silent - _guess the conversation was over._

Stan sighed as he fingered through the deck of cards in his hand, tracing his finger over the top card on the pile - the ace of spades. He frowned as he flipped the card over - a simple red-dotted pattern on the back, with a black symbol in the middle… one that kinda looked like _the symbol on his old fez._ Stan turned his head towards Eightball.

“Hey, Greenie - where’d you get this deck of cards from anyway?” Stan asked curiously. The tall freak scratched his head as he thought about it.

“Dunno… just appeared, I guess,” he responded as he thought back. “After you asked if anybody had any.”

Teeth’s teeth started chattering as he suddenly punched Eightball in the arm and whispered something furiously to him.

Stanley creased his brow - _something was up._

His back turned to the freaks, Stanley fanned out the deck and searched out the king of hearts, plucking it out carefully. There, with a crown on his head, was his _own, smirking face._

He dropped the card as his hands went stiff with shock. He looked over to the other corner of the cage, where the three of them had discarded the jokers before they'd started playing. On every one was a bright yellow triangle.

“Just appeared, _eh?”_ Stan remarked quietly to himself, before smiling slyly and standing up, looking to Eightball with as innocent an expression as a con-man could muster. “Hey, Slim - you got a _hair pin I could borrow?”_

 

* * *

* * *

 

The goodbye had been tough, but ultimately painless. Stan hadn't unpacked much before he… _changed_ , so Ford just stuffed whatever clothes and toiletries he could find into Stan’s suitcase, threw his own suitcase together, and passed them off to Arthur so he could pack them in the trunk of his car. Ford had just wished he could've thrown _Bill_ in there along with the luggage.

Helga had given Ford a warm send-off hug and a kiss on the cheek. She had wondered aloud why Stan hadn't said goodbye before running out to the car. Ford passed off the reasonable excuse that his ‘brother’ wasn't very good with _goodbyes._

The car ride out to the ice fields hadn't been too bad either. Arthur was a quiet man to begin with, so he didn't question the silence in the backseat. A thin, stretched smile had marked Bill’s face for the entirety of the ride, and he kept glancing over in Ford’s direction every few seconds like a maniac. Ford held his gaze straight ahead, not biting.

Then the car had stopped, Ford had politely thanked Arthur and told him they should be back in half an hour, and the brothers shuffled out of the small car and onto the snowy fields.

That had been five minutes ago.

Boots crunched on the ice as Ford kept a steady pace, focussed on the mission as he looked ahead to the cliff face where the Huldufolk were keeping his bag. The mission was simple, really - get the bag, get back to the car. Simple, and required no talking.

Bill sighed loudly from behind him.

Ford payed no attention to the demon as he trudged on, a few paces ahead of Bill, feet dragging through the slush. Another ten minutes of this uncomfortableness and they’d be at the...

“Sure brings back memories, huh?” Bill interjected cheerily. Ford squeezed his eyes shut as a grumble escaped his lips. He was not going to take the bait, _not going to take the bait._ “Feels like only yesterday when I threw Stan out of his own mind and punched you in the face… _oh, wait! It was!”_

Ford willed his legs to keep moving. He was not going to give Bill the satisfaction of a response. Bill stayed at an even pace just behind his ‘twin.’

“Nice day, isn't it?” Bill spoke again, looking up at the sky as a bird flew overhead. Ford kept walking. “Seriously, I’m asking - I don't know what you upright-apes deem as preferable atmospheric conditions, seeing as my definition of ‘nice weather’ includes a bit more… _screaming_.”

More silence.

“Especially nice seeing it outta my own pair of eyeballs this time around,” Bill chuckled. Ford narrowed his eyes, biting his tongue… but stayed quiet. The demon frowned.

“Not very talkative today, are we?” he probed, growing more impatient. “I know what you need - a joke! _Everybody_ likes jokes…” Ford glanced back at the demon, not liking where this was going one bit.

“What do you call an old man with _third-degree, deep-tissue burns and severe nerve damage from prolonged electrocution?”_ Bill bit his upturned lip triumphantly as Ford’s pace finally grinded to a halt. The scientist’s head hung low as his balled fists shook. Bill laughed as he finally delivered the punchline. _“DEAD in 15 yea-”_

Before Bill could even blink he was on the ground, skidding across the broken, muddy ice as Ford pinned him down like an angry wolf, his eyes dilated like that of a hungry predator about to devour its prey. Bill laughed in Ford’s face, not even fighting back.

“And we’ve _reached our limit!”_ Bill grinned wildly as he writhed under Ford’s weight on his arms. “Go on, I deserve it! _Do your worst, Fordsy!”_ Ford pulled back his fist, the sound of his speeding heartbeat ringing through his ears as he saw RED… when Bill opened his mouth and the sound of _Stanley Pines’ own terrified scream_ rang out through the air. Birds scattered as the cry echoed across the landscape.

Ford’s breath hitched as he froze in place, glancing up at his balled fist in horror. Bill stared up at him, thoroughly entertained.

“ _Yikes_ , Ford - that's your _own brother’s_ clock you were about to punch out! And here I thought you were supposed to be the _good guy!”_ Ford snapped out of his state of shock as he looked down at the grinning demon and suddenly pointed a finger at him, inches from ‘Stan’s’ face, Ford’s voice cracking as he laid down the law.

“You listen to me, Cipher, and _you listen good!_ These little games are over or _so help me_ I will make sure you _never_ get home.” Bill simply stared up at Ford, wide-eyed, as the author’s face grew even closer to Stan’s possessed one. Ford narrowed his eyes, his voice becoming quieter and more threatening by the second. “And I can _personally guarantee you_ that if Stan were conscious right now, he'd be more than happy to let me _beat that smug grin right off of his own face!”_ Bill burst out laughing.

“Stan _is_ conscious right now, genius! Why don't I just ask him about that  _myself?”_ he responded with a cock of his head, as Ford’s jaw slackened with shock.

“What exactly do you mean by _conscious?”_ he asked carefully. Bill sighed.

“I _mean_ he's conscious inside his own mindscape prison, like I was before. With the notable exception, of course, that he doesn't have to do any _forced manual labor_ in there,” Bill responded casually, before chuckling. “In fact, _Stanley_ was under the impression that I'd already done away with you, to which I assured him that as much as _I’d like to_ , I couldn't, seeing as you've been charged with playing the _white knight.”_ Bill smirked as he thought back on the conversation he'd eavesdropped on in the middle of the night. _So ironic._

“I want to speak with my brother then,” Ford suddenly replied, serious as a heart attack. Bill burst out laughing, much to Ford's annoyance.

“Oh _sure_ , Sixer! Let me just _demonstrate_ to your very irritating brother how to reclaim his body! I'm _sure_ he won't try to switch out constantly or anything!” he snickered, positively dripping with sarcasm. “I mean, how _stupid_ do you think I am?”

“Apparently stupid enough to shake hands with a gloved, five-fingered hand,” Ford responded smugly. Bill stared back at him, dead-panned.

“Fair enough, I walked right into that one,” Bill shrugged, or as much as one _could_ shrug when they were pinned down by a sixty-something-year-old man. “Look, I’d like to call a truce, Sixer. And as a sentiment of my _good will_ , I’d be willing to deliver a message to Stanley.” Ford raised an eyebrow.

“How do I know you’re actually going to deliver it?” he asked skeptically. Bill rolled his eyes.

“You'll see my mouth moving, genius,” he replied annoyedly. “And if you wouldn't mind _getting off me_ now, that'd be _swell_. My butt is starting to go numb.” Ford released his grip on his ‘brother's’ arms and stood up, offering a reluctant hand to his enemy as Bill slipped and skidded on the ice, finding his footing as he stood up. Ford didn't want Stan getting back a body with a _broken hip_ , anyway.

“Tell Stanley that we've called a working-truce, that I’m okay, and that I’m working on a device to get you out of his head,” Ford instructed him.

“Aye aye, Capitan,” Bill replied with a half-assed salute. Ford recoiled as Bill’s eyes rolled back into his head. “Alright, Stanley, I have a special message to give you from your br - WHAT??” Ford looked to Bill as his eyebrows shot up like rockets. “How did you… _WHERE DID YOU GET ALL THIS?!”_

“What's going on??” Ford asked frantically, pulling on the collar of Stan’s coat…

 

* * *

* * *

 

… but Bill was far too busy gawking at the bright lights and giant speakers, blaring classic rock, that outfitted the Fearamid. The cage was empty, along with an abandoned, open shackle in the center of it.

Below his murderous gaze were Teeth and Eightball, looking very guilty and VERY nervous, as they looked towards Stan, playing air guitar with a can of Pitt soda in his hand in the center of the room. Stan looked up at the eyeballs as if he hadn't noticed them until now, just for the laugh.

“Oh hey, Bill!” Stan exclaimed cheerfully, taking a long sip of cola, exhaling, then wiping his lip. _“How's it hanging?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now things are about to get VERY interesting... Hehehehe
> 
> See you next week, though probably not by Monday again! I'm absolutely shocked that I've been updating so regularly, but this is the first time I'm posting without any chapter overlay, so it may take me a bit longer than normal to write this one. It's gonna be a really fun chapter, though - get ready for Bill at the airport :) #trainwreck


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanley faces off against Bill with the power of classic rock, and Ford tries to babysit a demon in an airport.
> 
> *This is my favourite summary yet*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra bonus - song references! Here's the names of all three songs mentioned in the chapter! Check out the lyrics (and the actual songs) in tandem with their appearance for a good laugh ;)
> 
> START ME UP - by the Rolling Stones  
> SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL - by the Rolling Stones  
> LONDON CALLING - by the Clash

_"If you start me up, if you start me up I'll never stop…”_ Stan sung in his low, grumbly Grunkle voice over top of Mick Jagger as Bill’s huge eyes bulged in shock, glancing feverishly throughout the room. Stan had somehow gotten a whole stage in there, where he was currently dancing and swinging a mic stand around. “How do you like the redecorating I did, Bill? Oh, hang on a second, next verse - _I've been running hot, you got me ticking gonna blow my top!”_

 _“YOU TWO!!”_ Bill exclaimed furiously as his eyes shone down on the two hench-maniacs like a blinding spotlight. They cowered fearfully as they squinted against the red beams. _“Explain yourselves!!”_ Eightball put a hand to his ear, before cupping both hands around his mouth like a makeshift-megaphone.

“What was that, boss? Sorry, we can't hear you!” he yelled back as Teeth shrugged.

 _“You make a grown man cry!”_ Stanley sung dramatically as he sang into the microphone, tilting it on the stand as he crooned, his voice breaking as he hit the higher notes.

 

* * *

* * *

 

“What in the _hell_ is going on in there??” Ford demanded as he looked to Bill, the demon practically rocking back and forth on his heels with his hands on either side of his head like a madman. _“Bill!!”_

 

* * *

* * *

 

 _“UGHHHHH!! That’s ENOUGH!”_ Bill roared, and the sound of a record scratching to a halt filled the Fearamid as Bill’s murderous, red eyes shone on Stanley. The man let out a high pitched yelp as one of the beams starting lifting him off the stage and up into the air, until he was floating directly across from Bill’s livid gaze. _“How did you escape?”_

“Ha! _Wouldn't you like to know!”_ Stan smirked defiantly as he crossed his arms. Bill sighed exasperatedly as he looked toward the jukebox in the corner that had been playing the record. With a faint snap, something else came on, crackling to life over the speakers.

“You know, I helped write some of history’s biggest hits! You might _recognize_ this one,” Bill trailed off as the music started. Bill laughed as Stan’s face betrayed his cool demeanor, his eyes bugging out as he suddenly realized that _Sympathy for the Devil_ was a whole lot scarier than he remembered. “Things are about to _change_ around here, Stanley, and I won't have you _getting in my WAY!!”_

With that, Stan gasped as he was thrown across the room, landing hard against the steel wall of the Fearamid, and falling to the hard, stone ground with a heavy thud. He watched deliriously, on the verge of passing out, as everything he'd swindled out of those two bozos Bill called _guards_ vanished into thin air. Even the hair pin he’d used to escape floated out of his pants pocket and disappeared. Nothing was left now but his dreaded cage and shackle, the jukebox, and Bill’s freaks. Mick Jagger sang on as Teeth and Eightball quivered under Bill’s blood-red gaze, _“Pleased to meet you! Hope you guess my name!”_

“Come on, Boss! We didn't mean to do nothing _wr-AHHH!!”_ Teeth cried out as Bill’s beams melted him and Eightball like pitiful ants under a magnifying glass. Stan turned away, horrified, as his heart raced, trying not to think about his own fate.

 _“But what’s puzzling you, is the nature of my game!”_ the singer continued as the cage and shackle disappeared with a snap.

Bill narrowed his gaze at Stanley as the man audibly gulped, trying to stand up and get away, but it was too late. Stan gritted his teeth as the cage’s glowing blue pattern crept across the floor like a matrix grid and under his feet, gasping as it scooped him up into the air like a steel-mesh butterfly net. It's journey upwards finally stopped when it reached the ceiling, the net expanding outwards into something of a narrow birdcage, swinging precariously several stories up from the floor. Stan tried not to look down as he felt his old fear of heights resurging.

 _“Just call me Lucifer, cause I'm in need of some restraint!”_ the jukebox carried on, before Bill finally turned off the damned thing with a snap, and Stan was glad for the music’s riddance. The Fearamid was deathly quiet as Bill rolled his eyes. 

 

* * *

* * *

 

"-you _said_ you’d deliver the message, _not start whatever this is!_  And if you think I’m going to let you intimidate Stanley like this _then_ _you-”_

 

* * *

* * *

 

“Just a _minute_ , Sixer, _I’m getting to it!_ I've had a bit of a situation to deal with!” Bill hissed to the outside as a smile burst onto Stan’s tired face.

 _“My brother’s here??”_ he exclaimed as he grabbed the bars of the cage anxiously. “What’s he saying? Can he hear me?? FORD!!”

 _“_ _Can it,_ Stan, the only one who has the misfortune of hearing you is me,” Bill replied dismissively, then sighed. “Old Sixer _does_ has a message for you, though, and he's getting quite impatient for me to deliver it.” Stan waited with baited breath as Bill cleared his throat. _“Ahem_ \- ‘We’ve called a working truce, I’m okay, and I’m working on a way to get you out of his head.’”

The jukebox stuttered back to life as Stan’s face fell.

“That's it?” he asked desperately. “I want details! What does ‘working truce’ mean? And what does ‘ _okay’_ mean?? _How long am I gonna be stuck in here for??”_

 _“Ooh_ , sorry Stan, we've run out of time! Sorry to leave you _hanging_ ,” Bill winked with Stan's own eyeballs, “but your brother and I have a flight to catch. Oh, and I put on my _greatest hits_ album for you to listen to! You wouldn’t _believe_ what kinda favours Chuck Berry did for me back in the day… Later!”

 _“ARGHH, BILL!”_ Stanley yelled as he rattled the bars of his cage, and Bill rolled back into reality.

 

* * *

* * *

 

“-and we don't have time for you to be _screwing around inside my brother’s mind!”_ Ford exclaimed as he grabbed his brother's jacket’s collar, only for Bill to reemerge from the mindspace, stone-faced. Ford’s nostrils flared as he let go of the collar with a huff. “Took you long enough.” Bill dusted off his collar with a side glance to the man.

“Yeah, well, there was an unexpected… _problem_ , and I needed to take care of it,” the demon replied, and started to walk again, his boots crunching against the ice shards that covered the ground.

 _“Hey!”_ Ford called out as he picked up the pace, matching Bill’s hurried one. “I _heard_ the things you were saying to Stanley. What did you mean when you asked Stanley how he _escaped?_ Are you keeping him in restraints?? I swear, if you’ve touched a _hair on his head-”_

“His hairs are just fine, it's for his own good,” Bill replied rather hastily as his eyebrows knit into a scowl. “You know what they say about too many cooks in the kitchen…” The two of them stopped as they looked up to the cliff face towering above them, and the secret entrance behind the falls just up ahead.

“You can't come in with me, so you'll have to wait here - they wouldn't let Stan in last time because of you,” Ford said frostily, his eyes locked on the falls and what laid beyond them. Bill scoffed.

“Fordsy, your naivety still _baffles_ me,” he chuckled as he leaned against the rock and pressed the heel of his boot into the tiny footprint set in the stone before him. Ford clenched his fists as the waterfall began to slow. “Go along and get your gadgets, I’m not going anywhere. Oh, and say hi to the Huldufolk for me, will ya? I haven't seen those _jerks_ in a few millenia.”

Ford closed his eyes as he tried to calm down, turning towards the now visible tunnel into the hidden village. He couldn't help the way his thoughts rampaged, storming through his mind like a hurricane. Bill had known all along about the Huldufolk… _of course he had_ , he'd been breaking through Stan’s consciousness for months, watching their every move through Stan’s own eyes - he'd turned Stan into _his own, unwilling spy_ for godsake. And, of course, it didn't help that Bill and the Huldufolk were both mystical beings that specialized in _dreams..._

Ford instinctively raised his hands as he approached the tunnel, knowing that the elves had likely already surrounded him, even if he couldn't see them. The crystals lighting the tunnel glowed blue against the darkness, eventually opening up into the deep cave he'd seen before. He turned to the wall and grinned as he spotted his bag, still tied with the knot he'd learned in the Gasglorn quadrant. With haste, he untied it and reached inside for the headpiece, slipping it on and pressing the power button. With a flicker, the cave filled with anxious elves, and Gardenia standing at the podium in the center square, gazing towards him with grave concern.

Ford raced towards the square as the smaller elves scattered by his feet, trying to stay out of the way, some being scooped up by the larger ones in Ford’s path. He caught his breath as he reached the podium and looked to the leader, her eyes marked with fear. She took a deep breath before she started.

“I speak for all of us when I say we are relieved to see you alive,” Gardenia uttered with weight, glancing at the bruise that marked his jaw and the scrapes along his cheek and eyebrow. “I tried to contact you last night, but the only time I found you asleep was for about half an hour this morning within a nightmare… and there, we have no domain.” Ford tried not to shudder as he thought back on the nightmare, as vivid now as if he were still within it. “Your brother - _is he…”_

“He’s possessed by the demon, but Stanley’s still alive,” he replied quietly. The elves surrounding the square began to murmur. “The demon planned all of it, he was even aware of the separation that would occur when I sought you out. I was a _fool_ … and I played right into his hands, just like I always have.” Ford hung his head as the last words escaped his lips like a dying breath. “And this time I don't have Stan to get me out of it.” Gardenia raised her head, looking to the man with courage.

“Your brother is strong, Stanford Pines,” she said, as he met her gaze with hope. “I can feel his energy within his mind still, and it is _fighting_.” Ford smiled, thinking about Stan fighting back against Bill with bronze knuckles, swinging ‘til the end. “He won't be able to fight alone, though. Neither of you will.”

“What can I do?” he asked the leader eagerly as she closed her eyes and focused on his brother's soul.

“Your brother must be dealt an opportunity, a chance to learn his own potential while undisturbed,” she spoke, opening her wide, green eyes to Ford once more. “If you can interrupt the demon’s lucidity without drawing suspicion, it could be the window your brother needs.” A lightbulb practically illuminated above Ford’s head as an idea came ready-made to him in a flash.

“I have a plan,” he spoke quickly, smiling as he thought it over. “If I’m careful, he won’t notice a thing. Thank you, once again, Gardenia. Your advice has been invaluable.” He bowed his head as he swung the bag over his shoulder. She nodded back with a bright smile.

“Until we meet again, human,” she bade farewell as Ford raced towards the tunnel, still open to the sunlight, as the man waved goodbye to the elves that called and hollered well wishes for the twins.

Ford was spared the shower this time as he ran out of the tunnel and into the clearing, where the waterfall quickly resumed its flow once Ford was clear of the entrance. Bill was still in the same place, now seated on the rocky ground beneath the cliff face, flicking around a pebble for his amusement.

“Let’s go,” Ford ordered as he walked past Bill, not even stopping to notice the demon’s raised eyebrow. “We have a flight to catch.”

 

* * *

 

The car ride over had been rather uneventful for Bill. Almost the second they’d made it back to the car, Ford had fallen asleep. Arthur wasn't much for conversation, nor did Bill really _want_ to talk to him, so Bill sat in silence for the ride and watched the rolling scenery go by.

When Ford had been well and truly out of it, Bill had taken a stab at fishing around in Ford’s carry-on bag. He'd been hoping to find the blueprints to the artificial gateway, the one that Ford was planning on trapping, and/or _killing_ , him with, but the blueprints were scarcely filled in. Everything else in there was rather boring - clothes, medication, books for the plane ride… nothing worth exploiting.

If the airport was anything like Ford had described it - the long lines, the tight security, all the waiting around - it was sure to be a painfully boring journey to Gravity Falls. Bill would just have to _spruce it up a little._

The car pulled up to the curb, Arthur turned the vehicle into park, and he turned around in his seat to look to the sleeping twin in the back with a fond grin. Bill poked Ford in the shoulder, and the scientist awoke with a start.

“I’m awake! I’m awake!” Ford exclaimed as he sat up suddenly, his eyes owlishly wide behind his glasses. Stanford looked to Bill suspiciously before grabbing his carry-on from the middle seat and rifling through the bag, making sure nothing was missing. Bill rolled his eyes - _as if he'd get caught._

“Everything okay?” Arthur asked. Both passengers quickly looked to Arthur innocently.

“Oh, everything's fine! Stan just likes to… _play pranks_ on me sometimes and, _um,_ rearrange my things! You know brothers!” Ford chuckled awkwardly. Bill practically cringed as he tried to smile and nod.

“Actually, I don’t - I grew up with five sisters!” Arthur laughed. “Here, let me get your bags out of the trunk.” The second Arthur got out and closed the car door, both ‘twins’ collectively sighed and Ford looked to Bill with a scowl.

“Hey! Don't look at me like that, I didn't even do anything!” Bill complained, raising his hands in the air innocently, as, _technically_ , it was true.

“I _swear_ , Bill, you'd better behave yourself until we get home or _I’m going to…”_ Ford threatened until Arthur suddenly opened the door on Bill’s side. Ford plastered a grin on his face. _“...going to_ give you a well-earned noogie, _you scoundrel!”_ Bill hesitantly got out of the car and looked around. Cars and taxis everywhere, people hurriedly entering and exiting the automatic doors lining the building, and tour buses whizzing by filled with exhausted tourists. He could hardly wait to see the inside of the building - it actually surprised him that he’d never seen the inside of an international airport in all these years. _Oh, the chaos he could cause in one of these..._

“Take good care of the Stan O’ War, will you?” Ford smiled as he and Arthur patted each other fondly on the back in a brief, but warm hug. Ford would miss the man - he and Helga been so kind to Stan and himself these past few months, and the thought of being left alone without an ally/witness with Bill in an airport of all places was _beyond_ nerve-wracking. Arthur nodded as he pulled away.

“Safe journey home! You two don’t pull too many pranks on each other!” Arthur jested. Ford smiled back forcibly.

“Oh, don’t worry, Arthur,” Bill said with a look to Ford. “We’ll take _good_ care of each other, won't we,  _bro?”_ Ford tried not to groan. _This was_   _not going to go well._

Arthur waved goodbye as he got back into the car, the twins waving back as he drove away, leaving the two on their own in a sea of travellers. Ford hung his head as he sighed - _and so his nightmare began._

“You stay beside or in front of me at all times, Cipher, understand?” Ford said with a side glance to his possessed brother.

“I don't know, Ford, this place is so big… maybe we should _hold hands so I don't get lost,”_ Bill smiled. Ford groaned as he turned towards the doors, wheeling his suitcase behind him with his carry-on in his right hand, and his left hand firmly by his side as Bill walked beside him. With a *whoosh*, the automatic doors slid open to reveal the bustling airport before them. Bill’s pupils dilated as he took in the sheer amount of stressed, chaotic human activity before him - it was a _gold mine._

“Okay, we’re looking for _Theta Airlines,”_ Ford said as he scanned the rows of check-in desks and winding lineups. He zipped open his carry-on and started rummaging around for the travel documents, furrowing his brow. “ _Damn_ , I think I left them in Stan’s suitcase… could you pass it over to me so I can che-” Ford did a terrified double-take. Bill was gone.

Ford’s heart started racing as he spun around in all directions, looking for his brother’s body somewhere in the crowd of people surrounding him, breathing erratically as he tried to stay calm and think logically. He finally spotted Stan’s red beanie bobbing amongst the crowd, and sighed with relief. He could practically feel the white hairs sprouting on his head from the stress as he bounded over to where Bill had settled, and spun his ‘brother’ around by the shoulders.

“What did I _just_ say about _staying by my si-”_ Ford hissed, before Bill pointed to the sign beside them - _Theta Airlines, Economy Class_ , and noticing that they were at the tail end of a very long, winding line of travellers. “Oh.”

“I’ll take a _‘thanks for finding the line’_ now,” Bill said offhandedly, closing his eyes as he crossed his arms smugly, waiting for said ‘thank you’. Ford stared at him, deadpanned. “Okay, guess I’m not getting one…” Ford set down his suitcase, propping up his carry-on atop it.

“We’re going to be waiting here for a while, so make yourself comfortable,” Ford mumbled as he started digging around in the bag again. Bill snickered.

“You underestimate my patience, Sixer! I waited _eons_ for my Weirdmageddon plans to come to fruition, only to have them turn to ashes in my _cold, practically dead hands,”_ Bill quietly seethed, collecting himself again with a calming breath. “At least this time the waiting will actually _get_ me somewhere.” Ford payed him little attention, or at least acted like it, finally pulling out the object he'd been looking for in his bag - the cell phone he’d gotten in Gravity Falls before they’d left for the Arctic Ocean.

“Yeah, well I’m going to be finally figuring out how to use this thing - I need to learn how to send a picture of the schematics to Fiddleford. I’m going to need him to start working on the larger components of the machine in the shack’s basement. He’ll have to scavenge some parts from the UFO as well, so I’ll need to draw him a map...” Ford mumbled as he turned on the device and the screen flashed to life. “I have a ‘What-the-Heck-Ahedron’ if you want something to keep you busy.”

“No thanks, I’m one for people-watching myself,” Bill replied, leaning against his suitcase as he looked about at the people rushing by, the stressed college students, the crying babies. _Maybe this place wasn't so bad after all…_

 

* * *

* * *

 

 _“London calling, see we ain't got no high, except for that one with the yellowy eyes…”_ Joe Strummer sang. Stan groaned.

“I can't believe Bill managed to ruin _another_ song for me. I mean, this one's pretty obvious now that I think about it…” he remarked, before sighing at the realization that he'd resorted to talking to himself like a lunatic. _“Keep it together, Stanley_ \- you’ve been through worse. At least this place is cleaner than the jail cell in Columbia!” His body still ached from being thrown against the wall by Bill - if this hadn't all been in the mindscape, he’d have easily been killed from the impact. He went to stretch out his weary limbs, only to be met by the cold metal bars of the cage before he'd even extended his arms.

 _“Oh come on!”_ Stan yelled as he kicked the cage in defiance, only to wince at his now incredibly sore toes inside his boot. “This is crazy! There isn't even enough room to _think_ in here! I guess that's what you want, though, isn't it?! I was _right_ before when I said you’re scared of me! I mean, why the _hell_ would you put me in a freaking _birdcage_ unless there's something you're trying to keep me from finding out??” Stan practically growled as he pressed his hands against either side of the cage, trying to bust through with his bare strength alone. “And then you give me sorer muscles than a _damned pro wrestler_ , and don't even give me the _courtesy_ of a big enough cage to stretch out?!? I mean, yeah, _I get it_ , this is your way of getting revenge on me for punching you into Dorito-dust and all, but if _you think-”_ Stan’s train of thought ground to a startling halt as he stared in shock at his hands, _sticking out of the cage._ Around each arm was a concentric hole, glowing red like hot embers. His eyes widened.

“What in the… I did that? _How did I do that?!”_ Stan exclaimed. He drew one arm back into the cage, and then stuck it back out through the hole again, laughing triumphantly as he finally stretched out. “HA! Oh, that feels good! Take that, you _stinkin’ demon!”_ He drew his arms back inside the cage again, cautiously grazing one hand against the red metal. It was smoking from the heat, but surprisingly, it felt cool against his hand.

“Okay, Stan, now you just have to remember what you did to magically burn a hole through this thing. Think!” Stan concentrated, biting his lip, but nothing was coming to him. He pressed his hands against the cage again, but the metal wasn't budging. _“Ugh!_ Just like me to forget how to do something I just did, I’m such a _knucklehe_ \- WHOA!” Stan cried as the metal bars in front of him melted before his eyes and gave way under his weight, and he quickly thrust himself backwards to stop from falling through the hole in front of him. He caught his breath as he looked down at the floor beneath him - _bad idea._ He squeezed his eyes shut, his head spinning.

“This is insane... So, all I gotta do to break this thing _is get angry?_ Ha! Piece of cake! Getting down... yeah, that's  _not_ gonna be so easy,” he gulped. Falling from this height to the ground probably wouldn't _kill_ him, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to walk afterwards. “If only there was one of those bug-infested mattresses under the cage, like the kind we used back in Columbia to land on when we jumped out the window… Well, maybe not bug infested, preferably _not_ ,” he rambled, imagining how good it would feel to stretch out on a huge, soft mattress after all the pummelling he’d been through. He sighed. “It’s a nice thought, anyways.” And that's when he heard something land on the ground with a thud.

Stan didn't dare to breathe as he glanced down at the ground, where an enormous, gleaming white mattress lied directly under the cage. Stanley’s jaw dropped open.

“Well, would you look at that…” Stan muttered as he took in the landing pad he’d pictured in his head… that had just _appeared in his head._ Stan grinned as he realized it made perfect sense. “Lost my mind… _yeah right!_ This baby’s been mine all along, and _I’m takin’ it back!!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up next, Bill Cipher boards an international airplane!
> 
> On another note - Ah! Sorry I was so late this week with the update, I've been getting crazy busy. It's starting to look like it's gonna be a bi-weekly update schedule you guys :( on the bright side, though, that means quality content that's been edited and laboured over! 
> 
> See you in two weeks! :D


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill tells a 'story', and Stan explores his newfound powers in the mindscape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible trigger warning for insinuated gun violence, strangling, and drugs, though not pertaining to our main characters! Just want to cover all bases, just in case!

**Chapter 12**

"I don't get it," Bill said bluntly as he looked up and down the winding line of travelers leading up to the  _Theta Airlines_  kiosks. Ford gave him a cautious side-glance as he looked up from the screen of his phone. "Why has no one started  _rioting yet?"_ Ford looked back to his phone, inspecting the contact-book icon and pressing it, a faint smile marking his lips.

"Is that a hint of  _impatience_  I hear?" Ford asked quietly as he started entering in the contact information for Fiddleford Hadron McGucket. Bill sputtered a bit in response and covered it with a quick laugh, crossing his arms.

"In your  _dreams,"_  Bill boasted with false bravado. Ford's muscles tensed as he kept his gaze firmly locked on the phone's screen, unwanted memories of Bill's horror-filled dreams flashing through his mind at lightning speed. "Believe me, Sixer, I'm  _more_  than content to watch these suckers slowly lose their so-called 'sanity' _._ I mean, I've seen my fair share of sheep-like obedience in my time, but this whole operation they have going here is hilariously inefficient! I mean, how long have we been waiting here now, an  _hour?!"_

"Twenty minutes, by my count," Ford replied as he pressed  _save_  on the screen and started on creating Soos' contact page.

Bill sighed as he drummed his anxious fingers on Stan's suitcase. This was a  _nightmare_ , and not in the good way. The airport wasn't nearly as much fun as he'd thought it would be when they'd arrived, but he sure as hell wasn't going to let Ford catch onto that. Once the babies had stopped crying and the stressed out college students had logged onto their _free wifi,_ everything had gotten very quiet and  _very boring._  Compounded by the fact that he was locked in a vessel that was expected to behave in order to board the aircraft (which was so primitive it made him laugh), and that Ford was completely ignoring him, Bill was going out of his mind. He looked to Ford again, totally consumed by the device in his hand, the tunnel-vision insufferable.  _Time to get his attention._

Bill looked around at the people in the line. Standing a few groups behind them was a family of three - a young boy, a slightly older girl, and their frazzled mother who looked like she hadn't slept in a week. Something flickered in the demon's eyes as he bit his lip.

Bill started snickering under his breath, waiting until eventually Ford glanced over at him, the smile on Stan's stolen face eerily  _gleeful._

"What are you so happy about all of a sudden?" Ford asked, instantly suspicious as he narrowed his gaze. Bill smiled devilishly.

"You see that family behind us?" he asked, pointing back at the group with a thumb over his shoulder. Ford tried to be as inconspicuous as possible as he took a quick look at them. "Those guys used to be the stars of one of my  _personal soap operas."_ Ford's eyes went wide as he stole another glance in their direction. Bill tried to keep himself from snickering - this was gonna be  _fun._

"What are you talking about?" Ford asked hushedly in something of a demand, his eyebrows knit together in a nervous frown.

"Oh, where do I even  _start?"_ Bill drawled as the line moved forward by a few inches and everyone shuffled forward. "Well, for starters, those kids are little bastards."

" _Bill!"_

"No, seriously, they're  _bastards_ , the woman's husband isn't their father."

"There's a husband?" Ford asked dryly, humoring the demon who was no doubt trying to take him for a ride.

"Oh yeah, but I suppose you'd say it's a good thing the kids aren't related to him cause he is a  _piece of work_ , let me tell you _._  My kinda guy, total abusive wreck. Anyways! The husband was a goat farmer - the whole family lived in the northern region of this country and raised goats! So one day the kids are playing out in the field with some of 'em, and the boy gets the bright idea to start  _riding_  one of the goats. Needless to say, it doesn't go well - kid gets bucked off, starts crying, _the works._ Sister doesn't like seeing her little brother cry, so she decides to _train_ the goat to let her brother ride it. Mother starts to notice, but she would rather they ride the goats than be around the husband, and she drinks bottle after bottle of white wine while she holds the cool bottle against her swollen eye…"

"Bill, this is ridiculous, you can't actually expect me to  _believe_ this garbage?" Ford hissed under his breath as the line shuffled forward again. Bill shrugged.

"Fine, smart guy, I guess you don't want to know why they're here at the airport then... and I can assure you, it's not for a family holiday," he smirked. Ford grimaced as he took another quick peek at the family behind them, looking away before the young boy caught him in the act. Bill chuckled. " _Real subtle_."

"You know what? It doesn't matter. I don't want anything to do with this nonsense," Ford snapped as he turned his phone back on.

"Great, I'll continue!" Bill smiled. "So the mother starts thinking they're not making enough money farming goats, so using her limited knowledge from high school chemistry and the popular cable show,  _Cracking Cool_ , she creates a full blown crystal meth lab in the family's basement…"

 _"What?!"_   Ford exclaimed, and a few people in the line looked towards him at the outburst. Bill snickered as Ford grew red, lowering his voice again. "Bill, you  _can't talk about stuff like this in an airport!"_

"Flash forward seventeen days," Bill continued, paying no mind to Ford as the man pretended he  _wasn't_ hanging on the demon's every word. "Business is starting to boom for the mother, which she's able to keep secret from her husband because he's afraid of dark places, so he doesn't go in the basement. Also, _and this is important,_ by now the boy's gotten pretty good at riding this one goat. Meanwhile, the husband's taking a break from polishing his rifles, and starts smacking around his wife again. She's  _through_ with him, so she finally tells him in a fit of rage about the affair with his best friend from college, and that the kids aren't even his! Suffice to say, the husband completely loses his mind, and that's when _everything goes to hell..."_ Ford looked about nervously to make sure no one else was listening in on Bill's insane shpiel, which he was actually starting to think might be  _true._

"Right at that moment, the husband looks out the window to the pasture, where he sees the boy riding the goat like a _wild mustang._ The goat starts charging towards the gate, and the boy is screaming his head off cause they're gonna ram into it. So the girl opens the gate, the goat knocks the kid off its back, and the rest of the goats follow the leader out of the pasture and into the great beyond! And by  _great beyond,_ I mean traffic - those goats are history. The husband is seeing red _, literally,_ and he picks up the gun he was polishing, and  _aims it right at the kids…"_

Bill pauses dramatically, looking to Ford for a reaction, but the man is stone faced. Either he's not impressed because he can see the two kids alive and well behind them, or he's trying to ignore an _unpleasant memory_ the two of them share.

Bill smiles as he continues, "when, suddenly, the wife  _jumps on his back_  and manages to wrestle away the gun, which clatters to the floor! She clenches her hands around her useless husband's neck while he stretches for the gun, and just as the kids walk into the house, he spins her around until he's got his hands around  _her_  throat! As her mother screams, the daughter slides across the ground and picks up the gun, closing her eyes as she pulls the trigger... and the husband slides to the ground,  _dead as Johnny Kennedy,_ nothing more than  _slowly_   _rotting_   _meat…"_

"So you're telling me that this family is running from the law after after an  _assisted murder_  that would, in almost any circumstance, be deemed as self defense?" Ford asked, nonplussed. Bill shook his head, grinning as the line shuffled forward again. He hadn't noticed how close they were getting to the kiosk, the attendant's voice starting to cut through the murmur of the crowd.

"I guess you're forgetting, Fordsy, that this happy little family couldn't exactly let anyone  _examine the scene of the murder_ , since there was a full-blown meth lab in their basement!  _No_ , they had to run - somewhere where they could start fresh, and run a lucrative business! So they hid away for, _apparently_ , about four months - upping their sales, telling neighbors that the husband was at a goat farming convention in Sweden - until they had enough to pay for a flight to  _Mexico City_ , and now, here they are! As you can clearly see, the mother hasn't gotten a wink of sleep since the incident, and the children are still numb to it, practicing their Spanish and  _rolling their R's..._ You know,it's  _hilarious_  just how  _easy_  it is to convince a kid to draw my image on the wall in permanent ink! Oh, and here's a  _fun fact_  - if you look closely enough at the girl's sweater, you can still see a  _spot of blood_  from when she shot him…"

"That's  _enough, Bill!"_ Ford suddenly exclaimed, trying to keep his voice hushed but failing spectacularly. Bill bit his lip and buckled up for the ride, Ford's eyes locked on the demon as they moved forward once again in the line. _"_ I don't _care_ if this is real or some _RIDICULOUS_  tale you stewed up just to drive me to my wits end, but congratulations!! _It worked!_ After  _everything_  I told you  _not_  to do around airport officials, you've either gone and potentially exposed this poor, put upon family, or you've made the people watching all of this on the security system  _VERY_ suspicious, since you think it's complety _fine_  to talk about  _murdering_   _goat farmers_   _and_   _illegally making and distributing crystal meth!_ And don't get me  _started_  about that mystery stain on the girl's sweater because that is  _obviously JAM!!"_

" _Sir_ , last time - may I see your passport or do I need to call security?" the tall female attendant at the kiosk asked. Stanford looked around, owl-eyed and red as a tomato, as he suddenly noticed they were at the front of the line.

He took a cautious glance at the family behind them again, instantly regretting that decision, as the mother  _stared Ford down._  Bill was tearing up as he desperately tried not to burst out laughing, eventually caving to it as he put on Stan's throaty chuckle and burst at the seams. Wiping away a spare tear, Bill turned to the attendant, resting his arm on the desk.

" _Ahaha,_ oh, I'm sorry, ma'am - my  _crazy_  brother over here has the wildest imagination! Over in America, this guy's a famous fiction writer! Maybe you've heard of him? Ford, tell her all about your  _novel!_ _You_ _know_ , the one you were just talking about! It's got a great titled too, ma'am -  _A Goat Bleats at_ _Midnight_ _!"_ Bill said, looking to Ford with a wide smile. Ford stammered as he quickly explained to the attendant that the  _novel_  was still in the works, while his mind chanted a single phrase over and over again.

_I'M GOING TO KILL THAT TRIANGLE._

 

* * *

* * *

 

" _Okay, Stan, relax - this isn't gonna kill ya!"_ Stan assured himself, grabbing onto the bars at the edge of the cage with white knuckles. Behind him was the gaping hole he'd just created, which he refused to look down through or he'd be sick all over the mattress lying below him. "Just gotta hold onto the bars, ease my way out  _butt-first,_  and let go!  _Easy peasy…"_  Stan gulped. He took a deep breath, trying to psyche himself up as he  _slowly_  leaned backwards, tilting the whole cage along with his weight. He squeezed his eyes closed as he gritted his teeth.

"Come on, Stan! You own this place! You can  _do this!"_  he yelped as he let his grip slip the  _tiniest_  bit, and instantly cursed  _gravity itself_ as it started to pull him down.

That's when his eyes shot open again.

"Wait a second… if chains can't hold me down in here,  _gravity sure as hell shouldn't be able to!"_ Stan exclaimed, and at that, he grinned ear to ear as the pull on his body subsided completely. The feeling was familiar, and he laughed as he let go of the cage bars and sat suspended in the air, pounding his balled fists up in victory.

" _PINES! PINES! PINES!"_

 

* * *

* * *

 

"Stanford and…  _Stanley_ Pines," the attendant confirmed as she compared the passport photos to the twins' nervous, smiling faces. Something seemed…  _off_  about the Stanley fellow, though - something she couldn't quite put her finger on. There was no denying they were identical twins, however, and travelling scientists at that…

The Stanley one was probably just sick or something.

"You can go ahead and put your checked luggage on the scale now," she instructed, pointing to the large metal scale beside the desk. Ford let out a small sigh of relief as he picked up his suitcase, grunting in discomfort as his weary, bruised muscles protested.

"Here, let me help you with that,  _bro_ ," Bill said, trying not to seem too happy as he took the suitcase from Ford, who had the most interesting look of  _seething_   _rage_  hidden behind a calm smile.

"Here are your boarding passes, gentlemen. Security is to your right," the kiosk woman instructed, motioning towards another long line. Bill smiled as Ford's head tilted all the way back with an exasperated groan. "NEXT!"

 

* * *

* * *

 

" _You're listening to Stan Radio! All of Stan's favourite songs on one rockin' station! Coming up next: Those Songs From The 80s That You Say You Hate, But Secretly Sing in the Car!"_

Stan sighed peacefully, midair, as he slowly sank to the ground, his hands interwoven behind his head as he reclined in an invisible chair. He snapped his fingers, and a cold can of Pitt Cola appeared in his right hand. He popped the tab and took a sip -  _just like the real stuff._

"You know, I could get used to this… maybe this whole 'imprisoned in my own mind' thing isn't so bad after all," Stan mused as he slowly sank to the ground. "Got more control in here than I do in my  _real life_. I can definitely see the attraction of 'Mabel Land' _…_ minus the blinding colors and  _radical teenage hunks_. Oh, and everything being made of baby teeth or blood or something... _"_

Stan's feet brushed the ground as he finally made contact with the cold, stone floor, and suddenly the gravity snapped back to normal as he felt his gut sag down again. He groaned a bit at that.

"Ugh, I am  _fat."_

Stan took a quick look around the barren space, the cold air raising goosebumps on his wrinkled skin. He whipped his head back towards the flesh wall, checking to make sure nothing was  _moving_ , and assured himself that he was alone as the ground remained steady below him. He remembered the way this place had shaken when Bill had payed him his little  _visits_.

"So that's the plan then," he murmured to himself, shuddering as he turned away from the wall, not wanting to look at his  _own body's flesh_  anymore than he absolutely had to. "First sign of movement and I'll reverse the gravity in here, throw myself back in the cage and seal up the hole! So long as I don't screw it up, Bill shouldn't notice anything's wrong, and I get to keep full rein of this place under his nonexistent nose!"

With a snap of his fingers, Stan's favourite armchair materialized behind him as he sunk down into it, the soft, worn leather giving under his weight as Stan let out a satisfied exhale. Another snap and a television appeared before him, along with a remote that fell into Stan's outstretched hand. He smirked as he grabbed it and turned on the TV, flipping channels until he finally found the one he was looking for. He grinned as a bowl of cheese puffs appeared in his lap, and he set down the remote before taking a handful and stuffing them into his mouth, his eyes glued to the screen.

" _I will never love you, Count Lionel! My true love may be gone from this world, but he'll always live on in my heart!"_

"Wait,  _what?!_ Richard Von Fraffleshire is  _DEAD?!"_ Stanley exclaimed as he sat up sharply in the chair, knocking over the bowl of cheese puffs. "But now she can never be queen!"

" _But Duchess, surely you understand that if you do not take my hand in marriage, you may never take your rightful place as queen!"_

"That's what  _I'm sayin'!!"_ Stan screamed.

 

* * *

* * *

 

"...and then you take off anything with metal in it, like a belt or shoes, and put it all in one of the bins…  _Bill_ , are you even listening to what I'm saying?" Ford whispered, turning to Bill with pursed lips as they stood in the line for security, the sound of bleeping metal detectors ringing through the air.

"Huh? Oh, no, not a bit, Sixer," Bill replied nonchalantly, staring at the signage to the side of the line, indicating which items weren't allowed on the aircraft. "These rules have got a  _lot_  of blind spots… I mean, just off the top of my head, I could file one of Stan's finger nails to a sharp point and…"

"I don't want to know!"Ford replied through his teeth. Bill pouted, denied the opportunity to elaborate. "Look, I  _know_  this dimension hasn't exactly caught up to the standards of some of the other, more advanced screening methods that exist out there..."

"Pfft, you're not kidding!" Bill snorted. "I mean, that whole  _walk-in screening device_  over there that they keep parading these meatsacks through wouldn't do a  _thing_  to stop something like me! Actually, now that I think about it, I wonder if any  _other_ demons have thought about possessing a passenger, or even  _better,_  a  _pilot_ , and causing mayhem over international waters…" Ford promptly cleared his throat and looked to Bill with a raised eyebrow, his nostrils flaring.  _"Theoretically speaking_ , of course!"

"Just follow my lead," Ford uttered with an annoyed glance to the demon as they approached one of the conveyor belts, the security officials ahead of them stone faced as they pushed other bins through the scanner. Bill watched as Ford grabbed a bin and started taking off his belt. Bill quickly followed suit and grabbed his own bin, undoing his own belt and placing it in the bin. Ford took off his shoes, and Bill took off his shoes. The demon could get the gist of what the next step would be, and started undoing his trousers...

"B _...STAN!"_ Ford squeaked as Bill looked to Ford innocently. Ford still had his pants on -  _what was he waiting for?_

" _Stan_ , you only need to take off  _metal-containing_ objects!" Ford sighed as he squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment. Bill really  _hadn't_  listened to a word he had said.

"These buttons are metal, though," Bill responded deadpanned, his pants around his ankles. A young woman in a security uniform stepped up behind the demon, patting him on the shoulder comfortingly. Bill practically jumped as he spun around to face her, sizing her up immediately. Kind, upturned eyes behind cat-rimmed glasses, long hair held in a messy bun, fingernails painted a chipped turquoise. Smart, but naive -  _just how he liked 'em._

"It's alright, sir - I know these rules can be a bit confusing for an old timer such as yourself," she said with an understanding smile. Ford looked on from a distance, beads of nervous sweat forming on his forehead as Bill  _grinned._

"Well, I'm sure a young, single-lifespa… I mean, uh,  _beautiful_  lady such as yourself could help someone as  _ancient_  as myself get through this process unscathed. My nerdy brother over there certainly isn't as _understanding and kind_ as yourself," he responded with a flashy smile, bending down to yank up his trousers. Ford groaned.

"I'm more than happy to help, sir. In  _fact_ , I think we can wave you straight through security! Why don't you follow me and I'll wait with you for your brother on the other side?" she replied with a sweet smile. Ford's jaw dropped.

"On the  _other side?_ Don't mind if I do!" Bill replied cheerfully, taking her arm as he walked away, shooting a sly grin back Fordsy's way as the man stood there  _fuming_. A machine beside Ford started beeping furiously.

"Uh, sir? I'm going to need to examine your bag," one of the TSA officers behind the conveyor belt said as he showed Ford a 3D scan of the carry-on bag, filled with all of Ford's inventions that he'd be dismantling for parts. Ford nodded for the man to proceed as he zipped open the carry-on. Ford couldn't let them confiscate anything, or he wouldn't have enough parts to build the small components for the artificial gateway. Time to start thinking like Stan and  _con his way out of this..._

 

* * *

* * *

 

Stan wiped away a single tear as the credits rolled, the score of sweeping orchestral music playing over the fading names.

"I still can't  _believe_  that the power of the Duchess' love brought Von Fraffleshire back from the grave! Best movie  _ever!"_ Stan applauded, before his eyes widened at a sudden realization. "Wait a second... was that movie  _even real?_  Did  _I_  make that up? Was that like one of those, what's it…  _fan-story_ things Soos was always goin' on about?"

Stanley eventually shrugged before stretching out a bit, reaching for the remote on the floor and pressing the off button, the screen flickering out and as he was met with the black screen. There was no reflection in it - Stan shuddered. Some things about this place were still a bit…  _off._

"Now what?" he asked himself quietly, looking around at the eerie space from the chair. He was still pretty tuckered out from his escape, but he didn't want to watch anymore TV… He stretched out a bit before standing up slowly, accidentally knocking over the empty can of cola by his feet. He flinched at the sound of the can rolling across the floor, echoing throughout the room.  _Not Bill… just the can._ Stanley was still alone… for now. With a faint *snap*, the can disappeared, along with the clatter of aluminum against stone.

"If only I had a lookout… then I could do whatever I wanted in here without worrying about Bill," Stan murmured, before laughing. "Wait a second, I  _can_  have a lookout! If Bill can create lackeys than  _I can make my own too!_ And I know just the genius to do the job," Stan grinned as he snapped his fingers.

In the distance, a figure appeared in a cloud of smoke. As they stepped forward, the smoke cleared, and they cleared their throat with a six fingered hand.

"Took you long enough, Stanley," the mindscape version of Ford spoke with an easy smile.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Ford smiled nervously as the TSA officer rifled through the carry-on bag with gloved fingers. Ford was lucky he'd had thirty years worth of experience of thinking on his toes. Meanwhile, Bill was over on the other side of the room being babysat by that sweet security woman, who obviously had no idea that she was speaking to a trillion year old chaos demon and  _not_ a senile old man. Ford just prayed that Bill was behaving himself…

"Here was the object that tipped off the system," the officer said as he pulled out the item, Ford hoping that it wasn't one of the inventions containing Gandorfian steel… "What is  _this_  supposed to be?" Ford raised an eyebrow as the officer held up the incriminating object.

" _That?_  Uh, that's a What-The-Heck-Ahedron…"Ford answered as the officer began to inspect the toy. "It's a brain game from America? Very popular with childr-"

"We're going to need to confiscate this and examine it before we can clear you through security," the officer answered bluntly as another officer picked up the toy with a large pair of tongs, placing it in a plastic bag. Ford looked on incredulously as the officer spoke again, "We're also going to need you to submit to a physical pat-down, sir. If you'll follow me over here, we can begin." Ford groaned wearily as he followed the officer over to the side of the room. Ford spread his arms and legs as the officer started waving a metal detector over his body, starting at his feet and working his way up. Ford sighed as the sound of his brother's amused laughter cut through the crowd like a knife.

"Uh, you should know I have a metal plate in my head…serious  _head trauma_  from when I was in my thirties," Ford informed the officer, who simply nodded as he continued, the machine beeping promptly as it went past Ford's head. The officer set down the metal detector and started the pat down. "You should also know that I'm  _ahaHAHA!_ … uhh, fairly  _ticklish…"_

"Mr. Pines is clear!" one of the TSA officers yelled out. Ford sighed as the officer who'd been inspecting Ford stepped back as the other officer continued to speak, yelling over the crowd. "Apologies, Mr. Pines! Funny story - it turns out my daughter actually  _has_  one of these! Totally forgot about it… as an apology on our behalf, we've upgraded you and your brother to first class! Sven will hand you the slip - just give it to an attendant at the gate!"

The officer who'd given Ford the pat down, apparently named Sven, walked away annoyedly as he swore under his breath in Icelandic, grabbing Ford's bag and the slip of paper from the other officers and shoved them into the scientist's arms before heading back to his station. Ford quickly looked over the slip, shoving it into his pants pocket, before rifling through his bag to make sure nothing was missing. Bill suddenly sprang up beside him, Ford jolting a bit as Bill nudged Ford with his elbow, waggling his eyebrows.

"Wow, that pat-down sure looked  _steamy_ , Sixer. Too bad I couldn't talk to Vanessa over there any longer. I was  _just_ about to tell her the exact time and date of her death! What a shame…"Bill trailed off, shaking his head as the two of them started walking towards the gate, Ford absolutely exhausted as Bill continued to prattle on. "Now tell me about this  _first class_ business, I like the sound of that…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I've become carried away with a concept and it's taking quite a bit longer than I thought to get someone from point A to point B! Damn my imagination! :P Bill WILL eventually board this plane, though, and in first-class no less! Our favourite dream demon deserves no less than the finest treatment, after all ;)
> 
> These last two weeks have been insane and I expect that will continue for the foreseeable future, so I'll be sticking with the bi-weekly schedule for updates. Until next time, peeps! (the marshmallow kind, obviously)
> 
> P.S. Oh, and by the way, I'm not revealing whether or not Bill was telling the truth about that family... guess we'll never know :))


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill and Ford experience first class luxury (while Bill acts like a first-class ass). Stan and Ford look for buried treasure...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M FINALLY BACK!! Thanks so much guys for bearing with me during the hiatus. To make up for such a long wait between chapters, this is the longest one I've written yet for ya. Enjoy :)

_Yes!"_ Stan cheered as the golf ball fell swiftly into the ninth hole, sending spiraling fireworks into the air, exploding with a fanfare of gun powder and red and blue light. Dream-Ford golf-clapped politely as Stan broke into a wild victory dance, swinging the club over his shoulder as he eyed the next hole hungrily.

"Stan, you are aware that you're winning because this is  _your_  mindscape, right?" Ford asked with a smirk as he crossed his arms. "You know, I could probably make this course a bit harder for you if you'd like."

"Are you kiddin' me?! I'm never this good at golf! I'm taking all the help I can  _get!"_  Stan said as he practiced his swing a few times in the air, glancing over to the pirate-ship hole at the end of the course, complete with skeletons wearing feathered hats and peg legs. Stan whistled as he strolled towards the tee. "You wanna get in on this, Sixer? I promise I'll go easy on ya." Stan winked for effect and Ford chuckled, shaking his head.

"I'm good, Stanley, but thank you," he said as he looked up at the massive wall of flesh behind him. "I am supposed to be the lookout after all." Ford grew pensive as he stared up at the unmoving wall, glaring at the disturbingly large optic nerve.

"Can't argue with that," Stan muttered as he thought about the ramifications of getting caught by Bill with a twelve-hole minigolf course strewn about the room. "Besides, I'd just cream ya anyway. I mean, it's not like you'd been playing a lot of golf over on the other side of that portal… right?"

"I don't know," Ford replied with a shrug. "I'm just an amalgam of the physical and personality traits that make up your memories of the real Stanford. I only know as much as you do." Stan frowned at that.

"Huh… no fun playing minigolf against yourself," he sighed, waggling his hips as he lined up his club to the tee. He took a quick glance over at the imagined version of his twin before he struck the ball. Ford's eyes were glazed over, deep in thought. "Earth to 'Planet Nerd,' come in, Captain Dork!" Ford shook his head briefly before looking back over to Stan, flashing a quick smile.

"Sorry, Stan… just got something on the mind, so to speak," he responded, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Stan turned his focus back to the game, sticking his tongue out a bit in concentration as he finally swung at the ball. He watched with glee as it ricocheted off the corners of the pathway and rolled to a stop a few inches short of a sand pit. Stan looked to Ford to take in his  _flawless_  execution, but Ford wasn't even looking at him. He was staring up at that big, stupid,  _ugly_  wall again. Stan frowned.

"Did I forget that you secretly hate golf or somethin'? _"_  he asked. Ford shook his head, putting his hands on his hips as he stared up at the wall.

"Something's not right," Ford mumbled. Stan glanced over to Ford, leaning on his golf club.

"Wow, and they say you're a genius," Stan smirked. Ford rolled his eyes as he grumbled and turned around to face Stan again.

"That's not what I mean, Stanley. Think about it, you said it yourself earlier - why would Bill keep you from this? How do your actions in here affect him in  _any way?"_  Ford asked, his gaze suddenly quite intense. Stan backed up a bit, shrugging off the tension as a bag of cheese-puffs materialized in his hand with a snap. He let the club fall to the ground with a clatter.

"I dunno, seems like a pretty clear-cut revenge scheme to me," Stan replied lacklusterly as he popped open the bag.

"There's something more to this, Stanley," Ford said as he adjusted his glasses. Stan shrugged and looked towards the animatronic dragon swooping over the hole.

"And so what if there is?" Stan found himself saying as he walked away from the dream-version of his brother. He could hear Ford guffawing from behind him. "We've got a good thing goin' here! So what if I'm stuck in my mind for a bit longer? The real version of you is probably busy building some kinda crazy invention to get me outta here any day now. Why not enjoy what I got here? What  _we_  got in here?!"

"Because it isn't  _real_ , Stan!" Ford implored of him, begging him to see reason. Stan hesitantly turned his head back towards him. "It's not real, and even if Bill really is just trying to keep you unhappy and bored out of your mind, there  _has_  to be another reason he was keeping you chained up like a rabid dog!" Stan sighed as he picked up his golf club again and lined up the shot.

"Just let me finish my game, okay, Stanford? I'm going for a record here," he said gruffly as he swung, the ball rolling towards the hole as Ford shook his head.

 

* * *

* * *

 

"Now  _this_ is what I'm talking about!" Bill said with a wide grin as he and Ford stood in the doorway of the first class lounge of the airport. "It's about  _time_ someone started treating me with the respect a demon of my class deserves!" The carry-on bag promptly dropped from Bill's hand to the floor as he raced towards one of the plush leather recliners and jumped onto it, settling with one leg crossed over the other as he rested his hands behind his head. Ford cringed - it looked eerily reminiscent of when he'd first found Bill in his brother's body reclining in the hot spring. It was strange to think that had only been a  _day_  ago. It felt like an eternity since his brother had been stolen from him and Ford had been forced to deal with an, impossibly, even  _more_  irritating Bill Cipher than he'd remembered.

 _It won't be long, now,_  Ford thought to himself with a razor thin smile as he picked up the bag Bill had dropped and started making his way towards a chair of his own.  _Bill's not even going to get the luxury of going to hell._

As Ford lowered himself onto one of the plush, leather seats, he glanced up at the bright screen up on the wall. He squinted as he finally made out the text - flight numbers, and their expected arrival times. Flight number TA2045 to Seattle would be arriving in about twenty minutes. Ford let out a sigh of relief. Now all he had to do was send off the texts to Soos, and make sure Bill...

"Great _X_ _olotl_ , they have everything here, Sixer!" Bill suddenly called out from across the room. Ford whipped his head towards the sound of his 'brother's' voice, and noticed a few other people in the lounge looking up curiously from their phones and newspapers. Ford grumbled as he stood up wearily and made his way over to where Bill was standing, when his eyes widened at the sight of  _trays and trays and trays of food._  Ford's stomach growled ravenously as he grabbed a plate from the nearby stack without a second thought and started  _piling_.

"Don't say I never did anything for you, Fordsy!" Bill grinned. Ford narrowed his eyes at Bill as he set down the metal tongs from the tray of crustless sandwiches and made his way over to the drink counter where Bill stood. The demon had filled his plate with mostly deserts and, for one odd reason or another, a large pile of  _mustard_. Ford almost choked as Bill dipped a chocolate chip cookie into it and took a bite, licking his lips. "You know, if there's one thing I appreciate about you meatbags, it's your ability to take wheat stalks, congealed cow lactate and beans, and somehow make this delectable creation. And this yellow stuff?  _Perfection!"_

"You're not supposed to _…_ ughh, nevermind," Ford said as he tried not to gag. He looked to the drink counter with relief as he spotted a bottle of whisky. This was  _perfect_  - he could start his plan even earlier than expected, albeit in a different fashion... Plus, he  _really_ need a strong drink for himself right about now.

"Ooh, good idea, Sixer!" Bill hushedly exclaimed. Ford bit his tongue as he planned his next words carefully, so as not to betray his intentions. "I haven't experienced human inebriation in  _so_  long! There a mechanical bull in this airport?"

"Uhh…  _no_ , but, here! Let me pour you a glass. You, uh, ever tried whiskey before?" Ford asked as he reached for the bottle, feeling a drop of sweat threatening to fall from his forehead.

"I've tried something similar in the G-2F6 dimension about three hundred years ago, so  _technically,_ no," Bill replied as he took the tumbler from Ford's hand. It was shaking a bit. Bill looked at Ford quizzically. "Ha… you're not trying to get me  _drunk_ , are you, Fordsy?" Stanford gulped.

"Haha _,_ oh, fine, you  _caught me,"_  Ford replied with an uneasy chuckle as he poured himself a glass, willing himself to calm down. "I just thought it'd, you know, make the flight a little more, uh,  _relaxing_. Less stressful. You've never been in one of these things before… it can get a bit nerve wracking," Ford replied calmly as he put the stopper back on the bottle. Bill didn't look so sure.

"Buddy, if I wanted to relax, I'd pull out a couple of Stan's molars for fun!" Bill responded as he set down the glass. Ford's jaw clenched as Bill laughed. "Manner of speaking, of course! You know what? I think I'm gonna try some of this coffee instead…"

"No!" Ford suddenly squeaked as Bill gave him a dangerous glance.  _"I mean_ , let  _me_  pour it for you! How do you take it? Cream? Sugar? Uh… _mustard?"_

"Just sugar, and lots of it," Bill instructed as Ford reached for the sugar container. "I wanna make sure I'm wide awake for all… how many hours is the flight?"

" _Eight_."

"All _eight_  hours of the flight home!"

"Not  _home_ … we have a stopover in Seattle first."

"We have  _two_ flights?" Bill gaped, and rubbed his hands together giddily, his eyes shining as he looked towards the windows at the other end of the room facing the tarmac. Ford quickly swapped the canister of coffee with the nearly identical decaf one and poured the coffee as quickly as he could before Bill turned back towards him. Bill grabbed the mug off the counter and took a cautious sip, before spitting it out all over Ford's jacket. Ford stood there slack jawed as he clamoured for the stack of paper napkins.

"Ugh, I meant  _salt,_ not sugar!  _Gross_ ," Bill gagged, disgustedly wiping off Stan's tongue with his grimy fingers. Ford pursed his lips into a tight line as he reached for the tumbler of whisky he'd poured for himself and downed the glass in one gulp. "Anyway, I gotta use the, uhh, what do you call it...  _toilet-room!_ Where would I find one?"

"There's one around the corner," Ford murmured as he pointed to it. "Five minutes,  _or_   _I'm calling security."_ Ford reached for the glass of whiskey he'd poured for Bill - he was still feeling far too sober for his liking...

"Yeah, yeah, five minutes, you got it," Bill waved off as he strolled towards the men's room. "Hmm, haven't checked in on Stanley for a while. I think it's time I payed him a visit…"

 

* * *

* * *

 

" _This is it,"_  Stan said to himself as he steadied his grip, looking up at the pirate ship towering over him, the skull-and-crossbones flag billowing in a non-present wind. If he made this hole, he'd finish the game eight above par, and in record time… just a gentle tap was all he needed.

"Uh, STAN?" Ford suddenly exclaimed, looking up at the quivering wall of flesh.

"Just a second, Ford! Steady…  _stead-_ AGH!" Stan yelped as he wobbled on his feet and the ball went flying, the ground suddenly shaking beneath him. He groaned as the ball flew straight into the pirate ship, crashing through the wood.  _"Oh, come on!"_

"Stan, you have to get up there NOW!" Ford cried as the eyes started to shake in their sockets. Stan's shoulders slumped and he sighed as he snapped his fingers. With a *pop*, the golf course disappeared in a puff of smoke.

"Damnit, Bill!Why do you have to destroy everything I love?!"he shouted as gravity reversed and he floated up towards the ceiling. He hesitantly snuck a glance over his shoulder at the eyeballs, slowly rolling forward in their sockets...

" _Ten seconds!"_ Ford cried as he floated up towards the cage with him, giving Stan a hard shove into the cage. Stan let out a gruff  _oomph_ as his back hit the metal ceiling, and clawed onto the bars near the back of the cage as Ford sealed up the broken bars at the front.

"Stay close to me, and don't make a sound," Stan instructed as Ford nodded, and with a snap, Ford's skin began to resemble that of a chameleon, blending into the background until only the whites of his eyes were visible. He shut them as he clung to the bars, bracing himself for the gravity shift.

Gravity snapped back to normal as Stan fell down to the floor of the cage with a clatter and pulled his knees in towards his body, trying to look like he'd fallen asleep. As Bill rolled in, he shut his eyes and slowed his breathing, trying to stiffen the smug smirk on his face.

"Hey, wake up, Stanley!  _STANLEY_ _!"_  Bill shouted as the room shook. Stan feigned a yawn as he sat up, rubbing his eyes blearily. "Boy, you sure do sleep a lot for someone without a physical need to sleep."

"Well a man's gotta get his beauty sleep when he's so busy doin' _nothing,"_  Stan said as he propped himself up on one elbow.

"Not so fun,  _is it?"_ Bill taunted, narrowing his yellow eyes. "I had to endure this for  _months._ You've only been in here for a day."

"It's only been _one day?_ " Stan exclaimed as he sat up. "So then… wait, are we in the air right now?"

"Geez,  _calm down,_  Stanley. Someone might get the idea you're afraid of heights or something," he said with a chuckle, his eyes gleaming as Stan gritted his teeth. "Relax, old-timer, we're still at the airport. We're boarding one of those tin cans your species passes off as an  _aircraft_  in about ten minutes though, so I don't exactly have a lotta time to chit-chat."

"Aw shucks, Bill, having a heart-to-heart is all I've been dreaming of while I've been stuck in here! Having a long, chummy conversation with the demon that tried to destroy my town and my whole family!" Stan replied with a cheery smile. Bill rolled his eyes. "At least by tomorrow we'll both be back home. I get my body and my comfy chair back, and you get to go home to nightmare-land." Bill chuckled awkwardly.

"Yeah, heh… _go home,"_ Bill muttered. Stan looked curiously to the eyeballs as Bill was silent for a moment. Something about Bill's reaction seemed…  _off._

" _Uh huh…"_ Stan replied slowly. "You need to rub your possession of me in my face again or are we done?"

"Uh, _right…_  just thought I'd provide you with some in-flight entertainment, since I'm not exactly gonna be able to check in all that often with the flights and all," Bill replied, shaking off whatever moment of _weirdness_ had just taken place. "So, since you've been 'good,' here it is! A pack of crayons, a coloring book depicting the 79 hells in excruciating detail, some stale peanuts, and the movie adaptation of a Clockwork Orange!" Bill said as the items materialized inside the cage and skidded across the metal. Stan covered his ears as the deafeningly loud opening music of the film reverberated off the walls, and the opening red screen of the movie projected over one of the metal walls of the Fearamid. "Thought you'd appreciate the works of another Stanley who had the honor of knowing me. We were  _good_ friends, Kubrick and I. Those were the days… oh, and I hope you don't mind if this movie loops for the next twenty-hour hours or so! Anyway, Stan, I gotta  _fly_ , hehehe… see ya in Seattle!"

And with that, Bill's eyes rolled forward again as Stan could faintly hear Bill yelling  _"I'm coming, I'm coming!"_ All that remained was the opening monologue of the movie booming throughout the room.

" _...we sat in the Korova milkbar trying to make up our rassoodocks what to do with the evening…"_

Dream-Ford tentatively opened one eye, scanning the area before he opened the other, and Stan let out a long, relieved sigh. With a faint *pop,* a remote appeared in Stan's hand and he promptly clicked the  _mute_  button.

"Ugh, current slang's hard enough to keep up with at my age, but this movie brings it to a whole new  _level_ ," Stan said as the cage started lowering to the ground like an elevator and the camouflage effect on Ford wore off. "Now to finish my game and put this one down in the history books!"

"Stan, hang on a second," Ford said as the cage made contact with the ground with a light thud. The cage bars slid open like automatic doors as Stan strolled out onto the ground, the mini-putt course forming around him as Ford hurried after his brother.  _"Stan, wait up!"_

 

* * *

* * *

 

Bill was practically bouncing in his seat from the excitement. Ford shut the overhead bin with force as he finally got the thing to shut, and settled into his seat. Even he was a bit excited, as drained, sore,  _utterly_  sober, and irritated as he was. After all, he'd never flown first class before, and they were  _finally going home._

The seats were more like individual pods, boxed off to the world, except for the aisle seats (which they had been placed in) that were open in the middle so their occupants could still see each other. As annoying a prospect as that seemed, it was necessary so that Ford could keep an eye on Bill, who's eyes were wide with child-like wonder as he examined his surroundings with glee.

"I can see why you meatbags pay extra for this, those saps back there are packed in like cargo! And look at all this! Big-ish screen TV, slippers,  _minibar!"_ Bill admired as he dangled a tiny bottle of vodka in the air.

"I'll admit, it is pretty impressive," Ford said as he looked about the cabin. People were beginning to settle down by now. "The sliding desk will be helpful for drawing the blueprints."

"Yeah, about that…" Bill started off. Ford's fingers immediately clenched over the ends of the armrests, his knuckles turning white. "Seeing as I helped you with some  _pretty impressive_  blueprints back in the day, I was hoping you could…"

"You led me to create one of the most  _unstable, dangerous_  creations  _ever_   _known to man!"_ Ford exploded, his face reddening as he tried to keep his voice down amongst the hum of the cabin.

" _Ugh_ , such a downer. Not my point, Sixer. What I'm _trying_  to say is that I hope there won't be any secrets between us! I might even be able to help…"

"You will  _not_  be involved in these plans," Ford said harshly, his glasses reflecting nothing but the sheen of light from the nearby windows. Bill frowned. "I know your little  _games_  well enough by now, Cipher. The second I look away, you'll make some kind of  _minor adjustment_  that makes the entire machine  _blow up!"_

"You know, if I were you, I wouldn't be talking about things  _blowing up_  on a plane," Bill replied snidely. Ford grumbled in response as he dropped the subject. A tall, dark skinned flight attendant stopped next to them, motioning to their seat belts.

"We'll be taking off in just a minute, so if you'll please fasten your seat belts and adjust your seats upright, gentlemen," he said as he shut one of the overhead bins above them.

"Of course, sir," Bill replied with the most charming of smiles, and leaned on his armrest as he raised his eyebrows. "I  _already_  feel safer with such a competent young man such as _yourself_  on board." Ford rolled his eyes as he buried his mortified face in his palm. The steward smiled back politely, a small blush staining his cheeks.

"If there's, uh,  _anything_  I can do for you during the flight, just, uh, press the button above you and I'll be right over to help you out," he said, a bit flustered as he straightened his jacket and smiled. Bill nodded back with a crooked grin as the man moved onto the next passenger.

"How is it that you manage to charm  _every person you meet_ without question?" Ford asked, incredulous. Bill shrugged.

"I'm a demon, it comes with the gig," he responded, startling a bit as the captain's voice cracked over the P.A. again.

" _Kkkkkkchh - We will be departing shortly. It is currently a chilly 32 degrees Fahrenheit in_ _Seattle_ _, and our estimated arrival time should be around_ _3:00 am_ _. Our crew members will now perform the safety demonstration - please pay attention and refer to your safety manuals for any further questions. Once we take off, our complimentary drink service will commence. Please make sure your seats are upright, tray tables stowed, and your seat belts fastened. Thank you for flying Theta Airlines - kkkkkkchh."_

"Oooh, look who's performing our safety show," Bill whispered as he bit his lip, watching as his favourite steward stood before the group with a seat belt in hand, acting along while music and instructions carried over the P.A. Bill smirked as he caught the man's eye. The attendant's gaze darted away as he tried to stay focused. Ford groaned as he leaned back in his stiff, upright chair.

He just had to put up with this nonsense for a little while longer.  _Drink service couldn't come fast enough..._

 

* * *

* * *

 

Stan sat triumphantly on the plank of the pirate ship, beer in hand as he adjusted his captain's hat he'd acquired from one the skeletons. Below, Ford lied glumly on the green, his eyes creased in concentration as he stared up at the flesh wall behind them. Stan called down from the plank.

"You want a cold one, Sixer? It's your favourite…" Stan tempted him, another can popping into existence in his free hand. Ford shook his head. "It's the same kind we used to steal from dad's stash back in the day!"

"I know, Stan, I'm literally a part of your mental process, remember?" he responded dryly.

 _"Geez,_  what's eatin' you?" Stan said as the extra can disappeared from his hand and he took another sip from his own open one. Ford hesitated before he answered.

"Where's your sense of adventure, Stanley?" he asked as he sat up, cross-legged. Stan raised an eyebrow, dangling his legs over the plank. "I know you've been wondering what Bill's up to, what he's planning, what that  _thing_ he said meant… Before you created me, I was part of your own thoughts. I  _still am,_  Stan _._ I  _know_  that you think there's something Bill's hiding from you, something he's trying to keep you from finding out, but rather than figuring out what that is, all you seem to want to do in here is squander your time and act even lazier than you  _usually_  do!"

"Hey! I'm sitting on the plank of a freaking  _pirate ship_  drinking a cold one! This ain't squanderin'!" Stan retorted. Ford started marching towards him. "Hey, w-what are you doing?"

"I'm dragging you  _back down to Earth!"_ Ford declared as he grabbed a hold of Stan's feet and pulled. Stan shrieked as he lost his balance and slid off the beam, grabbing onto the plank with both hands at the last moment and holding on for dear life, while his imaginary brother pulled at both of Stan's feet which he now had in his possession. "You're playing  _right into his hands_  if you do nothing, Stan, and you  _know it!"_

" _Oh yeah?"_ Stan growled as his grip on the board started to slip. "Well, what happens if I  _do_  find something and Bill finds out, huh? What if he never lets me out of here?! What if I never get to see the real version of you or the kids  _ever again?!"_

Stan's fingers finally slid off the board as the two brothers tumbled to the ground. Stan dizzily sat up, spitting out a mouthful of grass and dirt as he looked to Ford, who stared back at him with concern. The two of them mirrored each other as they fixed their askew pairs of glasses.

"Stan, I know you're scared," Ford said, looking his brother in the eye. "But _Bill doesn't play nice._  Whether you do something or not, Bill's going to find some way to use you to hurt the real version of me." Stan went to argue back, but he hesitated. "Fight back or not, Bill's  _still_ going to take advantage of your situation in whatever way he can. So either you pull a move… or standby and watch the same outcome occur in the end." Stan furrowed his brow as he mulled it over.

"So, what you're saying is… I don't have to go quietly," Stan grinned. Ford smiled back, relieved, as he nodded. "Alright, fine, Poindexter - what's your big idea?"

"It's to do with that wall," Ford said as he slowly stood up, looking towards the towering wall of flesh before them. Ford reached out a hand as he helped his brother/creator up. Stan shuddered at the sight of it, feeling his stomach turn.

"Ugh, I'd rather it  _didn't -_ that thing creeps me out," Stan said as he looked away. Ford shook his head, though.

"It's  _disturbing_  to say the least, but think about it for a second, Stan - why would you be able to see your  _own flesh_ inside your mind? Does that make any sense to you?"

"Well, we're in my head, right? I mean, I know your thoughts are in your brain and all, but… huh… s'not like my thoughts are all just floatin' around in empty space, right?" Stan pondered, his head starting to hurt.

"Right," Ford answered with a reassuring nod, and the two of them walked closer to the wall. "The subconscious and the mindscape are, well,  _in the the mind_. AKA, part of your  _brain_. No walls of flesh or giant eyeballs in there."

"So… you think this thing's some kinda ruse?" Stan asked. Ford nodded.

" _Precisely_  - something to make you repulsed and disgusted by. Something to  _avoid_. Bill doesn't want you to go near it, because something about it is  _bad news_ for him. And what's the creepiest, most disturbing part of the wall?" Ford asked. Stan smiled mischievously as he glanced up at the wall.

" _The eyes…"_

 

* * *

* * *

 

"That pain was…  _not_ hilarious," Bill groaned as the plane finally reached cruising altitude. "Ugh, these stupid human ears feel like they're being drilled into with a medieval torture device, and  _not_  the fun kind!"

"I told you pop your ears and equalize," Ford said with a shake of his head as he opened his complimentary newspaper.

"Pop my...  _I don't even know what that means!"_ Bill complained. Ford sighed as he reached over and pinched Bill's nose. "Hey, what do you think you're doing?"

"Close your mouth and try to push out air through your nose," Ford instructed. Bill's eyes crossed as he concentrated, and an expression of relief and eery joy suddenly blossomed on his face.

"Ahhh, that's better! Wow, you meatbags sure have efficient sinus cavities!" Bill marveled as he suddenly noticed a cart wheeling down the aisle towards them. "Hey, drinks! Ooh, and my favorite tall glass of water too…" Ford groaned at that as the young man approached them, parking the trolley.

"What would you two gentlemen like from the cart?" he asked brightly, and a bit nervously, as Bill practically stared a hole through him.

"Just some black tea for myself, thanks," Ford replied as he unfolded the scarcely drawn blueprints atop his slide-out desk. The steward nodded as he poured him a cup.

"I'll take a Pitt Cola," Bill said in his most authentic Stan-grumble. Trying to keep up appearances at a time like this seemed odd, but Ford didn't question it. "A drink to match my new friend -  _sweet, dark and bubbly."_ Ford groaned -  _that was why._

" _Uhh_ , yes, sir... c-coming right up," the man replied with a stammered chuckle as he fumbled with the drawer on the cart and pulled out a cold can, handing it awkwardly to Bill, who grabbed it with gusto. The attendant moved onto the next people behind them, but not without a quick smile to Bill, who returned it in full.

"You are  _unbelievable_ ," Ford murmured as he stirred a packet of milk into his tea. Bill, meanwhile, was fumbling with the can like an idiot. "What in the hell are you doing?"

"I can't get this...  _stupid_  thing open!" Bill said as he bit at the pull tab like a wolf. Ford's eyes lit up as he seized the opportunity he'd suddenly been given.

"Uh, here, let me do that," Ford replied quickly as his hand slipped nonchalantly in his pocket, his fingers concealing the capsule that had been hiding in there for several hours as he opened the can and looked down the aisle. "Hey, did I just see the steward wink at you?"

"Ooh,  _what?!"_ Bill exclaimed hushedly as he turned his head to gaze down the aisle. With sweating fingers Ford opened the capsule and dumped the crushed powder inside it into the can, giving it a quick swirl to combine the powder with the soda.

"Oh, my mistake... I think he just had something in his eye," Ford said quickly as he passed the can back to the demon, trying to slow his fast-beating heart. Bill sighed as he grabbed the can and took a long swig from it. Ford smiled.

 

* * *

* * *

 

_The Fearamid plunged into darkness._

Stan and his version of Ford both jumped as they glanced around the darkened space. It was like someone had cut the power.

"What's goin' on?" Stan asked, bewildered, as, with a snap, torches suddenly lined the walls.

"I don't know," Ford said, his eyes sparkling under the torch lights, "but I think this just might be the chance we've been looking for."

 

* * *

* * *

 

Ford held his breath as he waved a hand over Bill's closed eyes, and breathed a sigh of relief, slumping back in his chair as the stress he'd been carrying all day was finally relieved from his aching shoulders. He'd been lucky that Bill hadn't managed to get much caffeine, or any alcohol, into his system. Too much caffeine, and the pills wouldn't work for long enough. Any alcohol combined with the drug could prove too much for his brother's heart. Somehow, Ford had pulled it off. Bill was fast asleep, and Ford was finally,  _finally_ alone.

With Bill unconscious, Ford flipped over his page of blueprints to reveal the true ones on the other side, currently consisting only of the bare bones of the project that were too big to build on-route. Bill's bathroom break right before boarding had been just enough time to snap a picture and send it over to Soos, as he and McGucket had been instructed a few hours ago to start on the project asap. By the time Ford and Bill arrived in Gravity Falls, the at-home component of the machine would be completed. Then Ford could clip on the smaller extension he'd build on board the flights (made from an ingenious type of off-planet metallic plastic that hadn't been snatched by security, thankfully), and they'd be ready to go. Now Ford just had to sketch in the rest of the blueprints - the part he was building. Piece of cake.

Ford bit his lip as he stared as Stan's unconscious, slumped over body in the seat beside him. The pills would wear off in six to eight hours, from what he recalled about the dosage. Six to eight hours to finish the blueprints and get a few hours of sleep himself. This wasn't all just to conceal blueprints and get some Z's though - there was invisible ink and energy drinks for that...

Gardenia's words weighed heavily on Ford's memory as he stared at the snoring body beside him. She'd told Ford that Stanley needed an opportunity, a window of sorts, to  _learn of his own potential_ … whatever that meant. Since the drugs took a physical toll on the body, Stan had a pretty wide window of eight-ish hours to figure something out. Hopefully it would be enough time...

 

* * *

* * *

 

Stan hesitantly snapped his fingers and a rickety wooden staircase appeared before him, stopping at the large pair of eyes halfway up the wall, the whites of them tangled in nerves and muscle fibers. Ford patted him on the back as Stan took a deep breath, and started the climb.

"You're sure about this, Sixer?" Stan called down as he slowly ascended the steps.

"I can't be sure about anything, Stan. But I know you are," Dream-Ford replied with a nod. Stan gave a nervous nod back as he took the last step on the staircase, face to face with one of the UFO-sized spheres looming over him.

"Okay… now what?" Stan yelled down to his imagined brother. Ford shrugged.

"Just follow your instincts!" he yelled back up to Stan, who grinned mischievously as a thought came to him.

"Well… I always did say I had that  _other_  thing you didn't have, Poindexter," Stan said with a smirk as he drew back his fist and squeezed his eyes closed, preparing for the worst. " _PUNCHING_!"

He barely felt it as the skin of his knuckles made contact with the sinewy nerves of the eye, and everything went black.

 

* * *

 

Stan blinked wearily as he sat up, dim lights shining through the darkness. The air was dry. The most  _annoying_  sound was humming through the air, like a powerful fan or a distant vacuum… and something smelled faintly of  _microwaved chicken parm…_

His vision hazed in and out as he tried to get his bearings. It felt like someone had just whomped him on the side of the head. He couldn't even remember how he'd gotten there… wherever he was. He tried to move, and felt himself held in place by some kind of restraint.  _A seat belt?_  Whatever he was seated in was soft and spacious, but still strangely rigid. He looked ahead of him… a tray with an empty can of Pitt Cola, and a small, askew stack of papers and books.

Stanley lifted his heavy eyelids with more success as he slowly looked to his right. Someone was asleep beside him, papers sprawled out on a pull-out tray before him, and something paused on a small television screen in front of him - some kind of sci-fi nonsense, and a  _raccoon holding some kinda laser gun?_  Whoever this dork was, he looked a whole lot like Stan, especially while he was wearing Stan's red beanie…  _his red beanie…_ FORD.

And suddenly it all came back to him in a flash.

NIGHTMARES. ICELAND.

 _BILL_.

MINDSCAPE. CHAINS.

 _BILL_.

ESCAPE. FORD.

_BILL!_

EYES _… BIG EYES... HIS EYES!_

...

...

Stan looked down at his _own shaking palms._ He was back in reality.

_And he SCREAMED._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *happy sigh* Finally... I've been looking forward to that moment since I started Act II. So satisfying to bring these old men some much deserved joy :)
> 
> We're looking at maybe about three more chapters of this story before it draws to an end. We're getting close guys, and the finale's gonna knock your socks off. 2 weeks till the next chapter. Get ready for the homecoming, and the terror that accompanies it *cackles* See you then!
> 
>  


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan and Ford finally reunite, while Bill plans his final revenge on the Pines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **possible trigger warning for torture, but nothing gory**

_AHHHHHH!”_

***

Ford woke with a violent start as the sound of a high pitched scream rang throughout the darkened plane cabin. Sitting up groggily in his reclined seat-bed, he quickly realized, with _absolute horror_ , that it was coming from the seat next to him.

 _“Bill!!”_ Ford hissed as his adrenaline spurred and he reached over the seat divider, grabbing Bill’s shoulders and shaking them, the demon still hysterical. “ _What the hell is wrong with you??”_

His travelling companion suddenly stopped, and looked around the aircraft wildly, wide-eyed like a feral animal. The quiet in the cabin was stark as Ford slumped back in his seat. People in the aisles were starting to angrily sit up in their beds, looking towards the source of the sudden scream, as Ford shrunk under everyone’s irritated gaze. It was, after all, around two in the morning…

“Everything’s alright, just a nightmare!” Ford announced, cringing as Bill starting grabbing at Ford’s arm. Stanford irritatingly shook him off as their fellow passengers grumbled and went back to sleep. With slumber heavy on his brain as he settled back into his ‘bed’ and tried to fall back asleep himself, Ford couldn’t shake the feeling that something about Bill felt… _different_.

“Ford… _Ford…”_  his ‘brother’ murmured as Ford tried to ignore the demon and fall back asleep, his eyelids heavy as he silently begrudged his failed plan. “Ford! I’m... I’m back!”

“Yes, I’ve been very aware of this fact for the past day and half…” Ford muttered bitterly, hugging the pillow to his ears, but the grabbing hands didn’t stop. “ _Knock it off,_ I’m trying to sleep...”

“No, Ford, you gotta listen to me! It’s  _me! It’s Stanley!”_ the man beside him exclaimed, and suddenly Ford sat up like a flash, the blanket flying as he turned towards his brother’s body, instantly realizing what it was he’d noticed before - when he’d first been awoken and looked to his brother’s wandering eyes, feeling something was out of place, or perhaps _back in it._

It was his brother’s eyes _._  They were back to normal.

Ford was staring at his brother, _his real twin,_ his best friend… and Stanley was staring back with tears in his tired brown eyes.

 _“_ _Stanley_ _!!”_ Ford exclaimed as the two of them practically crashed into each other, barrelling into a bear hug over the divider in the seats. Tears were falling down Ford’s cheeks with fury, his glasses spattered with salt water as he finally managed to pulled away from his brother with his hands on Stanley’s shaking arms. Ford smiled proudly at his brother, who smiled back wearily with a heavy, relieved chuckle. _“You made it.”_

 

* * *

* * *

 

Alone, in a darkened room, lied a demon flat on his back. The air was frigid as Bill opened his eyes to the darkness.

“ _Ugh_ … didn’t realize that stupid human soda could knock you out like that…” Bill muttered to himself as he sat up, jet black hands propped up against the ground. Something that felt oddly like _splintered wood…_

The human feeling of sleep still lingered on Bill’s consciousness. It was disorienting, and _unpleasant_ , to say the least. The demon squinted against the darkness, recoiling at the faint scent of pine needles in the air.

“Hey, Sixer!” Bill called out, his mind starting to clear as he looked around in the darkness, chuckling to himself. “ _Heh_ … who turned off the lights in he…”

Bill stopped mid-thought as he suddenly realized that something was very wrong.

Wrong _,_ and _far too familiar._

Bill trembled as the lights flashed on, mercilessly bright as his triangular shadow fell across the shrinking prison. Peeling wallpaper, wooden floors, and the sickly _stench_ of  _pine._

The demon fell to his knees, terror grabbing him like a vice as his tightly clenched fists shook, before he slammed one of them against the splintering wooden floor of Stanley’s Pines’ mindscape.

**_“NO!”_ **

 

* * *

* * *

 

“So how did you do it?? What happened in there!? Has Bill been hurting you??” Ford asked, the questions flying out of his mouth a mile a minute. Stan could already feel his head spinning, and was grateful that everyone onboard the plane was fast asleep so that the twins could have some privacy. Stan went to answer, but his words froze in his dry mouth as Stan suddenly noticed the giant bruise on Ford’s jaw.

“Whoa, whoa - what is that from?! Did _Bill_ do that to you?! Did… did _I_ do that to you?” Stan asked fearfully. Ford shrugged it off, trying to fake a smile.

“I’m...fine. Bill’s done worse to me,” he replied, trying not to think about the validity of that statement too much. There were more important things to focus on now. He smiled at his twin. “I want to hear about you, Stanley.”

“Oh, _god_ , here do I even start?” Stan said with a laugh, thinking back on the impossibly strange circumstances of the past day-and-a-half. “Well, for starters, Bill was keeping me locked up like some kinda… _wild animal_ , and then there were these two dopes that I conned into letting me escape, and… _oww_ , why does my right eye hurt so much?? It feels like someone _punched it from the inside_! Huh…actually I think Bill _was_ usi...”

_“STANLEY!!"_

Stan turned pale as a ghost as his words evaporated on his tongue, the man suddenly as stiff as a board in his cushioned seat as fear rushed through him like white rapids. It felt like ages since he had heard that shrill voice ringing through his thoughts... _the indistinguishable voice of Bill Cipher._ Ford hesitantly looked to his brother, who was trembling.

“...S-Stan?” Ford said hesitantly, when his brother suddenly looked to him with panic in his eyes.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” Stan said, trying not to let his focus on reality slip. Ford grabbed Stan’s hand as he tried to keep his brother grounded. The clock was ticking...

“Okay, I suppose I’ll just skip to the important part then,” Ford said hurriedly as he reached into his pants pocket and retrieved a large sheet of folded blueprint paper. He pulled out the sliding desk in front of him and laid out the blue graph paper, smoothing out the creases as Stan’s eyes widened. “These are the blueprints for the external doorway. It’s simpler than it looks, really. See, I took the essential concept of the portal use from…”

 _“Quick version, Sixer!”_ Stan said as he tried to stay focused. Reality shimmered before him like stained glass as he felt himself losing his grip. His fingers clenched over the ends of his armrests. It helped a little.

“Sorry, okay,” Ford restarted, mentally chastising himself for forgetting Stan’s fleeting situation. He pointed to the corner of the blueprints. “This is the only part you need to know about anyways - this is how we’re _finally going to get Bill.”_ Stan eyed the diagrams, trying to make sense of the basic mechanics. “Essentially, Bill’s going to think this portal, here, is the way out - his way home. Except it won’t be. The second he touches it, it will corrode his demonized, molecular structure…”

“Ford, _English!”_

“Sorry! Short explanation… it should incinerate Bill on contact,” Ford said, his gaze hard. Stan grinned eagerly as he thought of the demon, who’d terrorized their family enough for a _lifetime_ , falling right into their trap. Something flickered in his mind, though, as Stan looked at the blueprints… something important… and suddenly he gasped as he remembered.

“ _He knows!”_ Stan blurted out. Ford furrowed his brow.

“Knows…?”

 _“Ford, I think he knows about the plan!”_ Stanley exclaimed, and Stanford’s eyes bulged in fear. “Bill… he said something _weird_ to me earlier today, something about going home…  but he said it all sarcastic-like, like he didn't really believe it. I think he already knows the machine is gonna kill him!”

“ _Wait a second_ , do you think Bill see us right now??” Ford exclaimed, trying to keep his voice down as he started to panic. Stan suddenly grimaced as he felt himself being pulled back again, and fought to hold on, grabbing onto Ford’s hand with a death grip.

“I don’t know!” Stan choked out as he felt his grasp on reality slipping away. _“_ Ah-gh! Ford! I’m being pulled ba-”

Stan’s eyes drooped closed as his grip loosened on Ford’s hand.

“Stanley!” Ford exclaimed under his breath, his brother’s hand cold as ice. Ford recoiled instantly as Stanley’s eyes snapped open again, back to the sickly shade of yellow that Ford was far too familiar with, Bill’s snake-like pupils staring murderously into the pits of Ford’s very soul.

“ _You drugged me?!”_ Bill seethed, before grimacing as he began to convulse. Ford quickly realized that Bill was fighting for control over the vessel, just like Stanley had. Hope lit up in Ford’s eyes - _Stan was fighting back._

“Oh… no… you… _don’t!!”_ Stanley’s true voice cried, struggling to take back control of his body.  Stan’s eyes flashed white again in a triumphant moment, but not for long. The shimmering orbs quickly deepened to yellow again, Bill’s slitted pupils wide in what was, unquestionably, _fear_.

“ _No!!”_ Bill exclaimed, clenching Stan’s body’s fists. Ford watched, terrified, as the struggle continued, Bill’s yellow eyes now shining blood-red. “I’m _not_ … going back in there!! You… _cAN’T… MAKE ME!”_

 

* * *

* * *

 

Stan grunted as he grabbed a steady hold of one of Cipher’s kicking legs, sticking halfway out of the right eyeball, and pulled with all his might. The platform he’d conjured beneath him wobbled, threatening to tumble down to the ground beneath him at any moment. Stanley knew better than to look down.

“AGHH! MIND-FORD, you gotta help me!” Stan called out into the unstable mindscape, rapidly flashing back and forth between a vision of the darkened Fearamid and Stan’s own living room. He breathed a sigh of relief as Ford soon appeared beside him, seemingly floating midair. Stan glanced down briefly at Ford’s feet, and grinned at the flames shooting out of his twin’s boots like mini-jetpacks. _He’d always thought that’d make a great invention for the real Ford to invent._ “Quick, grab his other leg!”

Cipher was holding on tight, and the twins grunted as they heaved with all their might, Bill trying desperately to shake them off.

“I’ve got a plan! Follow my lead! Pull hard on three!” Dream-Ford cried, Stan nodding resolutely as they both strengthened their grips on the demon’s flailing, jet black legs. “1! 2! _3!”_

With a cry from the twins, Bill’s grip on Stan’s physical body finally slipped, and with a loud _pop_ he emerged from the right eyeball. All three bodies fell towards the floor of the mindscape in a flurry of limbs and screams. They landed hard on the ground, alternating furiously between old wood and cold stone. Stan gasped as the wind was nearly knocked out of him, rolling towards the demon and taking Ford’s lead. With a single look exchanged between them, they tackled the blood-red demon, and a spray-can materialized in Ford’s hand. Stan smirked at what was about to come next.

“ _AHH!!_ NOT THE EYE, WHY IS IT ALWAYS THE EYE??” Bill cried as Ford threw away the used spray-can and helped Stan hold down the hysterical demon. It was perfect, Stan thought to himself with a wicked grin - _now Stan and Ford had a perfect window of time where Bill wouldn't be able to see what was happening on the other side..._

“Stan! What are you waiting for?? _GO!”_ Ford barked as his head whipped towards his stunned brother. Stan knelt there for a moment in silence, and shook his head as tears formed in his eyes.

“But he’ll kill you!” Stan protested, but he was quickly met by Ford’s strained response.

“Stan! _I’m just a figment of your imagination!!”_ he exclaimed as he struggled to hold Bill down. “ _Now GO!!”_ Stan nodded hesitantly, a jet-pack appearing on his back, and without another word, he blasted upward bound. Bill screamed, his eye useless as he twisted himself back and forth, writhing under Ford’s weight.

_“ **YOU’RE GOING TO PAY FOR THIS, STANLEY!”**_

Stan clenched his teeth, a tear falling from his cheek as he blasted straight into the massive left eyeball…

 

* * *

* * *

 

… and gasped for air as he woke back up in his real body, safe on the airplane. Stanford looked to him for a moment, squeezing Stan’s hand on the armrest, before Stanley sighed with great relief - he really _was_ back this time, but for how long, he couldn’t say, and he looked to his brother urgently.

“We don’t have a lot of time, Sixer,” he said, still a bit breathless. “This probably isn’t gonna last too long, so I hope you got a plan.” Ford nodded eagerly.

“I do - I just finished sketching this, check it out,” he said quietly as he flipped over one of the complimentary napkins lying on the desk beside the blueprints. The concealed side of the napkin was covered in lines and symbols, and some kind of lever. With a smile to his brother, Ford moved the napkin over the blueprints until it fit into the picture like a hidden puzzle piece. Stan’s eyes widened.

“That’s _brilliant…”_ he smirked, eyeing the design of Ford’s latest improvement, and how simple and _effective_ it was. “You’re sure he’s gonna fall for that, though?”

“If I know Bill, he'll distrust the machine from the get-go, so he'll likely act as I suspect him to. He'll fall for this as long as we _both_ carry out the plan I’ve conceived to accompany it, from inside the mind and out of it, but we have to perform it _to the letter._ ” Ford stressed as Stan nodded. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do…”

 

* * *

* * *

 

Bill stood, alone, on the raw wooden floor of the mindscape, and with a crack of his wrists, _snapped_ Ford’s glasses in two. They fell to the ground with a clatter, before they were crushed under Bill foot, the heat emanating from his red-hot form melting the lenses to a puddle beneath him.

His eye still stinging, Bill let out a long, _slow_ breath and began marching towards the far most wall. Under his command, the floor began to expand out before him, so as to give him time to heal his eye, and to settle his raging thoughts before he woke Stanley from his _little daydream._

“I knew I should’ve used more restrains…” he muttered to himself, as he suddenly noticed with feigned interest that the wood floor beneath him was catching fire. He laughed as he thought about burning Stanley with just the touch of his palms, after Stanley had punched him into _interdimensional dust_ in this very room. _This Axolotl DAMNED ROOM..._

“ _No..._ ” Bill growled, his voice lowering an entire octave as the room began to pulsate around him, his fury no longer contained to his own form. _“Physical pain alone is too easy.”_

He eagerly extended his arms in front of him and cracked his knuckles, his vein-sprawled eye curving upwards in his own sort of mouthless smile. The revenge he had planned for Stanley was a bit more complicated and energy-consuming than the last one, and ran the risk of speeding up the demon’s theoretical time limit in Stanley’s mind, but at this point it was unavoidable. Stanley had simply become too dangerous.

And as for Ford… Bill hadn't yet made up his mind how he was going to tackle _that_ little problem. One moment of naivety had been all it had taken for that _nerd_ to deceive him. Bill was actually a little impressed - Stanford had proven to him time and again how _ballsy_ he’d become since their first encounters thirty-odd years ago. Bill didn't need an opponent in this game though, and Ford truly made for a much better _back-scratcher_ than he did for a psychological opponent. Bill would have to ensure that Ford was _reminded_ of that fact promptly. Embarrassing the man wasn’t enough - he’d have to be more severe in his tactics…

Tactics that would have to involve the blueprints that had continued to slip through his fingers. The blueprints that the Pines twins were probably cackling over at this _very moment…_ Blueprints which would likely be disposed of before he even got back into that _decrepit vessel._

Bill seethed as he snapped his fingers and Paci-fire and Pyronica appeared beside him. They were nearing the end of Bill’s elongated hall now, the wallpaper peeling off the tired, stale lumber like shredded skin. What he wouldn’t give to peel away some of Fordsy’s skin in retribution… but it wasn’t enough. Bill knew _just_ what to do to hurt the Pines the most - _all_ of them, _and_ their idiot friends.

It’d be a performance for the ages.

 _“You know what to do!”_ Bill commanded, bristling in anticipation, and at once, both of his goons reached into the crying-clown painting on the wall and began to pull.

 

* * *

* * *

 

“Okay… are you sure you’re clear on all the steps?” Ford confirmed as he finished tearing up the blueprints and the accompanying napkin, having committed all the important parts to memory. He quickly stashed the shredded paper in his complimentary, airline barf-bag. Stan nodded assuredly, giving his brother a crooked grin.

“Bill’s gonna be in for a _big_ surpr-ISE! Arggh!” Stan suddenly gasped, clenching his teeth as his whole body stiffened. His vision began to grow dark at the edges as his brother leaned over him, grabbing Stan tight by the shoulders. “L _-lllooks_ like this is… ughh!... it, Sixer!” Ford squeezed his eyes shut as tears threatened to fall.

“Just remember that Bill can’t hurt you in your own mind, Stan! Whatever he does to you in there…” Ford trailed off as his grip on his brother softened, “... just remember it’s _not real,_ and that you’ll be back with us soon. I promise, Stan - I’m not going to let _anything_ happen to you!"

Ford practically threw himself onto Stan in a desperate hug, Stan clinging to reality by a thread as he weakly held his twin brother.

“ _Aghh_ … don’t worry, Ford! I’ll be back before you can say _Gravity Fa-”_

Stan’s body slumped forward, Ford managing to catch his brother before he hit his head on the pull-out tray.

Ford shuddered, his cheeks wet as he leaned Stan’s body back in his seat, and reached up to press the attendant assistance button above him on the low ceiling. Within a moment, a young woman with short blonde hair appeared beside him.

“I’d like to dispose of this,” Ford uttered as he held out the barf-bag, to which the attendant nodded and took it from him.

“We’ll be landing shortly, sir. I can help you adjust your seat back to the upright position now,” she offered. Ford nodded, his mind elsewhere as he glanced over to his brother’s body.

_Why hadn’t Bill woken up yet?_

 

* * *

* * *

 

Stan grimaced as he was pulled back into the mindscape, the two, strong pairs of hands that had grabbed him finally releasing as the group of them tumbled through the wall and onto the rough, wooden floor of the shack. Stan let out a faint *oomph* as he landed flat on his face, the floor beneath him quickly transforming back to the cold, stone floor of the Fearamid. He tried to stay calm as he felt one of Bill’s monsters put a heavy foot on his back to hold him down.

Bill’s cackling suddenly echoed off the walls, filling the space like poison gas as the hairs on Stan’s neck stood straight up. He strained his neck to look up and watch as Bill floated down from the air to meet him, glowering down at the man with his upturned, smiling eye.

 _“Stan Pines…_ you’re a whole lot _stupider_ than I thought!” Bill laughed, his hands on his hips as his feet finally touched the ground. He looked down with pitiful glee at the captive human lying at his feet, snarling up at him. “I mean, did you and your freak of a brother _actually_ think you could pull one over on me like that and get away with it??”

“Yeah, we _did,_ ” Stan replied with a gnarled smirk, blowing a stray piece of hair out of his face. Bill goons began to laugh. “And I’m not as dumb as you think, wiseguy! Don’t forget what happened back in August when I shattered your one-eyed mug into the dirt!”

Bill’s brow lowered annoyedly as he adjusted his bowtie, and he slowly knelt down, as condescendingly as he could, to face the man.

“ _Listen_ , buddy - I’ve been at this for longer than your pathetic excuse for a _galaxy_ has existed,” Bill said as he chuckled, and flicked Stan’s nose playfully, just to see him squirm. “ _Trust me_ when I say that you do _not_ want to get into it with me.”

“Yeah, well, I’m _already_ in it, Bill, and I’m not some little chess piece that you get to manipulate!” Stan spat back, looking the demon square in the eye as the Bill’s pupil _narrowed_. “I know how to play the game now, and I’m showing my hand!”

With a loud snap, Manly Dan, Tats, and Ghost Eyes suddenly appeared mid-air and, with a battle cry, they jumped onto Bill’s goons. In a flurry of punches, tackles, and screams, the demon baby holding Stan down eased his grip on him enough for Stan to escape. As he watched the chaos unfold in the center of the room, a thick baseball bat appeared in Stanley’s hand with a snap. He smirked as he let the bat fall into his open palm menacingly, and he looked towards Bill. The demon was hovering over the fight, _yawning_ for effect as he looked Stan in the eye from across the room.

“Oh _wow_ , didn’t see that one coming, Fez. Really _knocked that one outta the park_ ,” he taunted, looking down at the scuffle with disinterest.

“ARGH, I’m gonna knock YOU outta the park!!” Stanley cried as he rushed towards the demon, wooden-bat ready to swing. Bill simply chuckled as he watched Stan get closer.

“You know, Stanley, I think you’re forgetting a pretty crucial fact right now,” Bill said calmly, with little concern as Stan charged towards him, crying out with wild abandon. “As long as I’m in here, _I OWN YOU.”_

Everything around them disappeared with a snap, and Stan blinked as he was suddenly surrounded by nothingness. Bill, Stan, and their creations floated in a white void. Stan looked around, panicked, as Bill _giggled_.

“You clearly don’t remember who you’re playing with, pal. Maybe THIS will _jog your memory!”_

Stan gasped as a long black tendril reached out from the void and snaked around his body, squeezing him like a boa constrictor as Stan struggled for air. The feeling was deathly familiar from the events of Weirdmaggedon. Stan looked around wildly as he saw his creations entrapped too, and surprisingly, Cipher’s lackeys as well.

Bill’s demonic laughter filled the space as his silhouetted image appeared before them, monstrously huge as his eye shone a blood-red spotlight down on Stanley. He squinted against the harsh light, his stomach in knots as Bill stared down at him like a vengeful _god_.

“Everyone! Give a big hand for our _pathetic_ friend Fez over here for _actually trying to outwit me!”_ Bill cackled. Bill’s cronies laughed manically as they did as they were told, their hands suddenly freed from the tendrils. Their slow, sarcastic clapping rang through Stan’s skull like thunder. “You sure are funny for a _puppet_ , Stanley!”

“I ain’t nobody’s puppet, Bill!” Stan barked, his lungs tight and starved for air as he tried not to choke. Bill snickered.

“You do realise with the double negative that you just said you _are somebody’s_ puppet, right?” he asked with a chuckle as he removed and brushed off his hat, Bill’s eye upturned in a sinister smirk as he placed the hat back on his head. “ _I’d_ say your lack of intelligence compared to your nerd of a brother’s is, what’s the word… Oh yeah! _SHOCKING!”_

Stan’s entire body seized with pain as the coiled tendril around his body lit up in a flash of light, jolting him with a painful burst of electricity. He wasn’t the only one, as screams began to fill the air. One by one, the creations poofed away, including Bill’s own cronies, who cried out for mercy. They were met with a cruel laugh from their master.

“You see, Stanley? Unlike _you_ , I’m not a sentimental moron who believes these projections are _real_ _or have_ feelings! They’re not like you and me, Stan. In fact, I have a feeling you could handle this kind of pain for _a lot_ longer than those guys!” he shrieked with glee, and the tendril holding Stan lit up once more as Stan barred his teeth, not letting a scream escape from his trembling lips. _He wouldn't give Bill the satisfaction._ “It’s funny, you know. I _technically_ did promise Fordsy that I wouldn’t ‘touch a hair on your head,’ which I take it, in English non-formal speaking terms, means not to hurt you… but I tend to take wordings fairly _literally_. And plus, I’m not even touching you! Look, no hands!” Stan couldn't help the scream that escaped him this time as another electric shock jolted through his body, leaving him slumped and weak as the tendril suddenly released him. He fell to the ground in a slump, trying to will himself to stand up, to move, to do _anything._

“But I’m getting carried away,” Bill relented as he shrunk down to his normal size and color once more, looking to the writhing man on the ground before him. “Don’t wanna get full on the appetizer before the main course!”

“ _Main… course?_ ” Stan gasped as his muscles spasmed. Bill laughed.

“Oh, you didn't think this was it, did you?” Bill asked rhetorically, faking surprise as he floated over to Stan with his hands behind his back, chuckling as his voice sank lower. “No… I’m just getting _started.”_ Stan groaned as he managed to get onto this hands and knees, his body wobbling like gelatin.

“You can… torture me… _all you want._ Just don’t… hurt… Ford!” Stan managed to squeak out, snarling at the demon.

“Oh, I’m not going to hurt Stanford… physically at least,” he snickered to himself. He had to be careful not to let on too much to old Fez - Bill still had the big day to look forward to in Gravity Falls, and he wasn't going to let _anything_ ruin that. “And speaking of which, I’ve got to be heading back soon. This body’s gotta get onto the next airplane! And since you like _exploring_ so much, you’ll be going someplace new!”

Bill waited for a response, but Stan didn't give him one. He simply glared up the demon, unflinching.

“You’re not going to ask where?” Bill asked dryly, shaking his head in disappointment. “Geez, you’re as boring as Sixer...”

“ _Don't call him that!”_ Stan suddenly yelled, startling Bill a little, his eye upturning in glee.

“Ooh, there’s that Fez fire. It seems I’ve struck a nerve!” he said giddily as he floated closer to Stan. Another tendril came down from the void and scooped up the man, raising him up so he see eye-to-eye with the demon. “I’ll have to tell _Sixer_ that you say hi, seeing as you won’t be coming out until the big day!”

A swirling vortex opened up below Stanley’s feet, and the tendril started to loosen around his body before the fall. Stan gulped as fear began to seize him again, his feet dangling as he felt himself starting to slip. He finally growled out the response Bill was looking for, just for the sake of his own sanity.

“Wh-where are you taking me?? _What aren’t I comin’ out of?!”_

Bill’s pupils narrowed to a slit as he laughed, his demonic voice filling the room and booming through Stan’s head as the tendril let go of him and he fell, screaming into the abyss.

**_“YOUR WORST NIGHTMARE.”_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That last scene has been one of my favorites so far to write. What can I say? Bill's a messed up dude :)
> 
> Two or three chapters left to go. Things are seriously heating up now (since they are, after all, in Cipher hell...) 
> 
> See you for the next one ;D I'm gonna say... three weeks! Maybe sooner if I have time on my hands!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill wakes up, and puts the seeds in place for his grand revenge scheme.

The plane shook as Bill came to in a flash, opening his eyes to the white walls of the cabin alongside his luxurious first-class accommodations, and Stanford’s terrified expression. The scientist’s rageful, brown eyes were as cold and hardened as a slab of steel. Bill sneered - _just how liked them._

The demon smiled as he lunged for the man’s neck.

Ford gasped as he narrowly avoided his possessed brother’s hands, Bill’s cat-like, electric eyes piercing his gaze like a rusty knife. Ford’s instincts suddenly kicked in, and his clenched fist flew for Bill’s stolen jaw. The man’s stomach twisted as he quickly justified that Stan wouldn’t mind…

“ _Kkkkkch - flight crew, brace for landing - kkkkkch…”_

Ford’s arm was suddenly pulled backwards as his whole body was pulled swiftly back into his seat. Bill gasped as the wheels of the plane brushed the concrete runway beneath them, his fingers clenched over the armrests and his pupils darting about like a frightened animal. Both of them grimaced as the plane barrelled down the runway, gravity quite effectively thwarting their attempts at violence.

The vehicle finally began to slow, and Ford exhaled as he looked towards Bill. His stomach still twisted into a tight knot, he readied himself to subdue the demon, but it no longer seemed necessary. Bill had grown still, staring out the closest, circular airplane window at the lifeless trees beyond the tarmac. Even from here, Ford could see the frost overtaking the grass beside the runway. The plane’s heated air felt frigid as he looked to Bill Cipher’s familiar vessel, his brother’s limbs stiff as Bill sat in a terribly foreboding, ice-cold silence.

Ford gulped as the airplane pulled to a full stop, and a *ding* rang out as the seatbelt sign flickered off.

A collection of metal clasps clicked open in unison as the passengers began to stretch out and emerge from their first-class cocoons. Ford’s heart pumped like a pounding, deafening drum in his ears as he stood up, his hands moving towards the clamp on the overhead storage bin like a zombie. In a flurry of other people’s hands and flashes of fabric and wheeled bags, Ford located his bag and pulled hard as it tumbled out and fell hard against his chest. Now he just had to retrieve the bag from Bill’s aisle and…

Ford sputtered as he looked to the empty seat beside his own.

_Empty._

“B-- _Stan?!”_ Ford yelped, his voice cracking as he frantically scanned the emptying aisles, people brushing by him as he stood there slack jawed. His head began to swim as words tumbled out of his mouth to emptying passengers, mumbling if anyone had seen his brother. He was met with shaking heads and rolled eyes, realizing instantly that his disjointed words must’ve sounded like the ramblings of a crazed old man.

He had to pull himself together. Bill was loose in the Seattle airport, and their connecting flight was leaving in two hours.

 _He had two hours to find Bill._ Or for Bill to find him.

In a moment of clarity, he realized it could have been worse. Bill had taken the wrong bag - Ford still had the carry-on full of his inventions and tools. All Bill had was clothes, shampoo, and spare razors. If Bill had gotten his hands on Ford’s bag… to put it lightly, people might have been evacuating the airport, or _much worse..._

He took a deep breath before striding down the aisle, his steely gaze not meeting that of the familiar, dark-skinned male attendant standing by the door, shooting the older man a smile as he walked off the plane and into the adjoining metal corridor.

“Thank you for flying Theta Airlines!”

 

* * *

 

Bill whistled quietly to himself, lightly swinging the carry-on bag in his hand while hordes of passengers hurried past him. He smiled as he spotted a nearby washroom and, with a spring in his step, flung the door open and strolled inside.

The fluorescent lights flickered against the white tiled walls. Bill tilted over until he could see under the stalls.

Empty.

 _Good_ , he thought to himself - he didn't need any nosy-parkers listening in on his upcoming, highly anticipated conversation. Bill couldn't help himself as he started to chuckle, his high-pitched laughter bouncing off the bleached tiles.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his newly-snatched prize. His eyes glistened as he stared down at the shiny new toy in his hand, and wondered if Ford would even realize _that his precious cell phone had suddenly gone missing..._

 

* * *

 

Ford’s eyes scanned the airport map, flitting back and forth between gates and shops and restaurants and taxi zones _…_ it was possible that Bill could hitch a ride in a taxi off to _who knows where,_ but it seemed unlikely. Bill, like himself, needed to get back to Gravity Falls so he could get back home - in Bill’s case, to the Nightmare Realm. Or so Bill thought anyways…

Memories flooded Ford’s thoughts unceremoniously. Painful memories of the strange, in-between realm of shadows and swirling foam, of Cipher’s laughter bouncing off of asteroids… Ford growled as he clenched his fists.

 _“You need to snap out of this!_ Stanley needs you right now,” he murmured strictly, shaking away the haunting visions of his past.

That was then. This was now. And right now, his brother’s body was missing.

He thought hard for a moment as he looked at the map again. No doubt this was one of Bill’s childish games. Perhaps a keyword from the gates spelled out some kind of Cipher…  or perhaps he was stalking the man _right now from behind the concrete pillars..._

He glanced up at the screen above him, noting the departing times for upcoming flights. The flight to Portland was an hour and a half away by now. Ford could feel himself sweating under the pressure, but that was okay - he could feel the gears in his mind beginning to turn.

After all, _since when was he one to back away from a challenge?_

 

* * *

  
Bill crouched atop a toilet seat, the stall door locked, while he stared at the lock screen of Stanford’s phone. He didn’t exactly have long - he had a few more things to do before Sixer found him, and he _did_ still have to call in that favor that the gnomes owed him, but cracking the security code on Ford’s phone couldn’t be _that_ difficult. The man was incredibly predictable, after all.

“Six letters, huh? Come on, Sixer, gimme a challenge," Bill smirked as he scoffed, cracking his neck back and forth before entering the letters on the touch screen.

_A-U-T-H-O-R_

The screen flashed to life as it displayed the main page. _He was in._ Bill yawned dramatically.

He quickly tapped the ‘call’ button and started scrolling through Ford’s contact list. This would be a piece of cake. He _had_ helped invent this piece of junk after all…

“Come on, where is it?” Bill muttered to himself as he looked alphabetically through the names, finding himself stumped at the empty ‘D’ section. “ _No…_ are Pine Tree and Fordsy on a first name basis now?! _How_ _adorable!”_

Bill snickered as he selected Pine Tree’s real, embarrassingly _stupid_ name. This was going to be like taking candy from a paranoid, sweaty, hormonal _baby._

He could hardly contain himself as the dial tone began to ring through to the other end.

One ring. Two rings. Thr-

 _"Great Uncle Ford?_ ”

Bill bit his tongue as he smiled.

“Great Uncle Ford, it’s… _ughh_ … four in the morning… Oh-oh my gosh, _is something wrong?”_ Dipper’s voice cracked through the line, panic starting to overtake his voice as he tried not to nod off. Bill tried not to laugh at how _constantly paranoid_ the young teen was, not that Pine Tree didn’t have a reason to be -  _h_ _e absolutely did._ The demon cleared his vessel’s throat, readying his best Stanford Pines impersonation. “H-hello?”

“Pin - uh, _Dipper_ , my boy!” Bill corrected himself quickly, adjusting his feet on the edge of the toilet seat. “How’s my _favorite_ great nephew doing these days?”

“Fine, I guess?” Dipper responded with an air of uncertainty. “Grunkle Ford, you know what _time_ it is, right?”

“Oh yes, yes, I apologize for calling at this hour - still on Icelandic time, I fear!” Bill rattled on, rolling his eyes at human kind’s fragile sleep structure. “And nothing is wrong at all, my boy! Actually, I have some _incredible news to…”_

“Ugh… _stupid_ , I completely forgot!” Dipper suddenly interrupted him, along with what sounded like Pine Tree’s hand slapping against his forehead. Bill frowned at the boy’s apparently minuscule attention span. “What’s the password?”

Bill blinked his wide yellow eyes as his balance on the seat wavered.

_Password??_

The demon cringed as his _stupid_ vessel’s body broke into a sweat. _A password… damn it!_ Ford had set up preemptive _security measures_ with the boy and everything! And who knew how many _other_ people were in on this?? He had to think of something, and quick. Ford was predictable, _simple…_ it had to be something the old man and Pine Tree had in common… Bill squeezed his eyes closed as he tried the first thing that came to mind.

“With pen and paper, shield and sword, our quest shall be our sweet reward!" he proclaimed confidently. The line was silent for what seemed like an eternity as Bill waited for something, anything… Dipper suddenly began to chuckle awkwardly.

“Uh, _yep_ , that’s it! We’re good!” the teen spoke. Bill shook his head as he silently chortled. This was just _too easy…_ “Now, what were you saying again, Grunkle Ford?” Bill’s eyes glinted under the halogens.

“ _Oh,_ I was just going to say that I have some great news!” Bill said, lowering his voice as he heard someone open the bathroom door. He took a quick peek under the stall at the mystery person’s shoes - _not Ford’s._ “I managed to pull some strings with the airline and I got us on an earlier flight home! We’re should be home to the Mystery Shack in just a few hours, which, by my calculations, means that if you and Sho- _uh_ , _Mabel_ leave on a bus to Gravity Falls first thing in the morning, we can celebrate Thanksgiving together just like we planned!”

The line was silent for a moment.

“ _Wow_ , that’s great!” the boy finally responded, Bill biting his lip in victory. “I mean, as long as my parents are okay with it, this  _is_ kinda last minute...”

“Of course, of course,” the demon responded, nodding for extra effect. He cleared his throat. “Though, I _do_ have some incredible specimens from Norway… much more interesting when they’re fresh…” he trailed off, smirking as the teenager paused.

“ _Specimens_ , huh?” Dipper replied, the teen tersely wavering for an _unbearably_ long moment. Bill crossed his fingers, hoping that he’d reeled in the _big kahuna..._

The young man exhaled and answered with fire in his voice, “Yeah, _we’ll be there.”_

 

* * *

 

Ford’s exhausted, glassy eyes squinted at the storefront sign in the distance, his feet stomping across the tiled ground. He’d investigated every possible hidden code, every _hint_ of a clue, every _vaguely_ _triangular_ sign, and he’d found nothing. That’s when Ford realized that Bill wouldn’t have wasted his time creating some clever _treasure map_ for Ford to follow - instead, it’d be much easier to allow the man to jump to the conclusion of a complicated Cipher (which Stanford did, to the letter) and choose a simple hiding spot _just to further_ tick Stanford off, _which it had._

The glass door to the _Spiffy Gentleman’s Attire_ shop swung wide open with a flurry of chiming bells, and Ford spotted his brother’s stolen body in the back of the shop, standing by the mirrors.

A tailor at his feet, along with a couple empty paper cups of that famous Seattle coffee, Cipher stood in a fitted black suit, bowtie, and a silken top hat atop his grizzled, grey head. A razor thin smile marked Bill’s cracked lips as he met Stanford’s piercing gaze in the mirror’s reflection, his physical twin looking like a _bat out of hell._

 _“You,”_ Ford _growled_ as he marched towards the demon, who waved his hand quickly to the tailor - a fancy ‘ _get lost.’_ Bill swooped down and snapped up a shiny, bronze cane, leaning on it with a smirk as Ford came to a stop in front of him. With a huff, the carry-on promptly fell to the ground with a clatter, the man panting like an angry hound. “ _Explain_ yourself. _NOW.”_

“What? Can’t a guy change up his look now and then? I mean, ya _gotta_ admit, the hat is _so me…”_

Bill flinched as Ford reached out and grabbed him by the back of his fancy suit collar and, rather _unceremoniously_ , began dragging him toward the glass doors on the demon’s heels.

“H- _hey!_ What do you think you think you’re doing?! I haven't paid for any of this yet!” Bill yelped, breaking Ford’s grip on the suit as he dusted the suit jacket off, lowering his voice. “I mean, I’m all in if you _want_ to commit a robbery, but…”

“Do you think this is some kind of _game,_ Cipher??” Ford hissed, grabbing hold of Bill’s suit lapels as he glared into the demon’s shining eyes. “Taking off with Stan’s body in a high security airport after you _tore my brother away from reality mid-flight??”_

“Oh, excuse me, _Mr. Roofie,”_ Bill snarled back, pushing Ford off of him with the butt of his cane. Ford’s nostrils flared as the demon adjusted his hat. “I mean, I’m fairly _impressed_ that you managed to conspire with someone trapped in his own mindscape, or, _heh_ , should I say, _nightmare-scape now.”_ Bill’s eyes glinted as his mouth curled into a nasty smile. Ford clenched his fists, minding himself as several customers walked past them, some of which were already eyeing the twins suspiciously. “ _Careful_ now, Fordsy - you don’t wanna get thrown outta here by security, now do you?”

Ford let out a pained breath as he stepped away from the demon and defeatedly made his way to the cash register.

“We’ll take everything he’s wearing,” Stanford muttered to the gentleman behind the counter, who smiled as he began to ring them up. Bill grinned as he leaned on his cane, _silently slipping Ford’s cell phone back into the man’s pants pocket_ as Bill glanced up inconspicuously at the gold-rimmed clock above the glass doors. “We’ve got a flight to catch…”

 

* * *

 

Time stood still as Bill sat aboard the flight to Oregon, Ford silently melding with a pocket laser in the seat beside him. Bill eyed the metalloid-plastic pieces with disdain, his mind whirring as the _operation_ drew closer by the hour. By now, Pine Tree and Shooting Star would be on their way to Gravity Falls on a rickety old bus, just as Bill and Ford would soon be.

He practically _itched_ with curiosity at what would be waiting for him in town. A county-wide tackle as he stepped off the bus steps? _Tomatoes and a stockade?_ No… not in the body of the _town hero._ Stan was somebody they respected nowadays.

Bill clenched his teeth as the plane dipped to the right, the aircraft circling the landing strip before its eventual touchdown. Ford silently packed up his inventions, stowing them before the flight attendants could hassle him about _this flight violation_ and _that safety concern…_ Bill glanced over at the man as he took out his cell phone, the demon grinning as Ford eyed the empty ‘recent calls’ page - the one Bill had been sure to clear before he returned Ford’s little toy to him.

The demon grimaced as the air pressure changed, and he tried to swallow the lump in his throat that he hadn’t noticed was there. He closed his eyes as his feeble vessel rode out the pressure on his sinuses, and opened his eyes promptly as he felt drowsiness begin to set in. Even though sleep shouldn’t have been anywhere in sight after all that coffee, the massive amount of juice powering Stan’s nightmare-scape was stealing energy by the second. If he was going to keep Fez thoroughly _tied up_ until showtime, Bill was going to need to keep himself well caffeinated - perhaps he’d try his hand at mixing up some _Mabel Juice._ A nap was one thing, but there was no way he was giving Stan another six-to-eight hour window to play _prison-break._

As the plane sped down the runway and the two of them rode out the change in gravity, Ford grabbed a handful of Bill’s flashy new suit jacket in his clenched fist, and it didn’t look like he was letting go anytime soon.

It seemed as if the demon had barely blinked when it was time to disembark the tin can. Ford’s grip on the suit jacket was still iron-clad as they waited for the rest of the passengers to move along. The man’s toe began tapping irritably. _There was still so much to do._ Finishing his components of the machine on the commute, assembling the machine in the basement, test runs, _making sure Bill didn’t set the Mystery Shack on fire in the meantime…_

Time blurred as the two of them fetched their suitcases from the carousel, Bill only _briefly_ riding around the luggage loop like a maniac. If anything, it helped steer Ford's thoughts away from his brother, and what hell he was being put through as the consequence of their actions. If Cipher hadn't been in the body of his twin, Ford would’ve strangled him thrice-over already. Bill’s conniving yellow eyes mocked him on the face of his brother. It was the only thing that reminded Stanford of what he was fighting for in the midst of this insanity.

Within a day, Cipher would be be banished from their world, and far from any way of returning to the multiverse to harm a single other person ever again - Ford would be sure of that. Stanley would be surrounded by friends, and the two of them would have their first Thanksgiving together after a lifetime apart. They’d video chat the kids, and share their stories of the open seas… they’d be a _family_ again.

Within what only seemed like moments, they had loaded their luggage onto the bus and sat tensely beside one another, each bristling with mad energy. Bill was confined to the window seat, and silently stared out at the swaying pine trees in the distance. Pocket laser in hand, Ford pinched the bridge of his nose before pulling out his half-finished module. Four hours would be more than enough time to assemble his section of the machine. Working atop his lap would just have to do. He glanced to his right, Bill taking another sip from his third or fourth coffee of the day - Ford had lost count. Whatever he was doing to Stanley was causing Bill a tremendous amount of energy loss. He could only hope that whatever horrors Stan was fighting through, he’d come out swinging on the other side…

 

* * *

* * *

 

A cold wind swept across bare skin. The hairs on Stanley’s neck stood up at attention like little soldiers.

Stan opened his eyes.

The smell of burnt hair and copper filled the air like poison. He tried not to gag as he spun around, trying to figure out where in the world he was… or _how he got there…_ All he could see was an inky blackness surrounding him, like a hazy, steaming oil slick shifting before his eyes - an infinite, dense, shimmering fog. He coughed as he raised a hand above his brow, trying to peer into the distance.

“Ford?” he called into the darkness. And the darkness answered.

_“Stanley! Stanley, help me!”_

The fog swirled before Stan’s eyes as the voice echoed around him, circling him like heavy drapes before an image formed out of the void, and suddenly…

He was home, in the basement lab below the shack.

The three-sided portal that had haunted him for half his life stood before him like a monolith. Frost crept down the sides like lace, and Stan shivered as he zipped up his tattered winter jacket, the shoulders still damp with snow.

… _Snow?_

He reached back and startled at the feeling of hair against his neck. The same long, dishevelled hair of his twenties, _that stupid mullet…_

“Stanley! _Stanley, help me!”_

Stan spun around at the sound of the same voice again, the voice he suddenly realised was indeed that of his twin.

“Stanford!! Where are you?” he called out desperately, spinning around like a top until finally, he looked upwards. Above him, mid air, his brother hovered in the gravitational pull of the gateway, _Bill’s invisible hand_ clenched around his brother.

Stan snarled, his fists clenched. _This time would be different._

He knew he only had a few seconds to spare, but Stan knew exactly what to do. He’d had _thirty years_ to study the machines his brother had left behind. He’d taught himself crude programming skills, read _Physics-For-Dummies_ cover to cover, four times! This would be a piece of ca-

 _“Uh, uh, uh!”_ a high-pitched voice swelled through the shadows. Stan’s skin crawled as time suddenly halted, mid-second.

Stan looked up in horror at his twin, dangling mid-air and frozen in time, reaching out desperately for his brother.

Stanley suddenly realised this wasn’t just a memory, or a dream. In flashes, his memory was starting to come back... Ford’s terrified eyes darted about the room, and finally settled on Stan as the mulleted man stood there, gawking, and unable to move as he tried to will his foggy mind to _put the pieces together..._

“Now, now, Stanley - we can’t have you changing history!” the voice cried out again, snaking through the darkness. Stan tried in vain to fight the vice grip on his body that held him in place, seething as the voice slithered past his face. “Your brother and I have a _little date_ in my slice of the interdimensional plain! And I can’t have you _third-wheeling it up.”_

The portal began crackling, hot sparks flying as its ring began spinning faster and faster, until the lines became blurred and colors burst from the seams. Stan and his twin squinted from the light until, with a flash, a triangular figure whirling a golden cane emerged with a faint *pop.*

“Ah, both Stans reunited at last, and in an environment I can fully control! _It’s a dream come true,”_ Bill smirked as he floated in front of the brothers, Ford shrinking in fear before the demon.

Stanley remembered what little information Ford had told him about Bill’s reign of terror on Stanford in his days before the portal. This younger Stanford was a victim of isolation and naivety, frozen in time. Struggling against the invisible grip on his body, Stan finally managed to open his mouth, and drew in a starved breath before snarling at the demon.

“You leave my brother alone! Us and the kids already defeated you, you _three-sided freak!_ What is this, some kinda nightmare or somethin’?” he asked, looking around. Bill sighed as he pitched his eye in frustration.

“Oh, you've got to be kidding me, Fez, I thought we’d already been through the memory loss thing! You don’t even remember how you got here, do you? _Ugh,_ you humans and your _trauma_ , let me tell you...” Bill tisked, crossing his arms as he floated before Stanley, who stared back rather blankly. “I’m hurt, Stanley! And after all the good times we had together! I guess no one appreciates good old _electrotherapy_ anymore…”

“Electro… _oh god,”_ Stanley suddenly breathed in quiet horror. Bill’s eye creased upwards as he strolled across an imaginary floor, mid-air, away from Stanley as the man's memory flooded, and his body started to _ache._ “My body… Stanford! What... what is this?? If this is supposed to scare me, it’s not working, pal! I already made peace with my past, this is just a memory!”

"Well, in that case then..." Bill chuckled as he snapped his fingers nonchalatnly, and the portal slowly started sucking Stanford in.

 _“No!_  Let him go!” Stan suddenly protested, but Bill shrugged.

“Sorry, no can do. You said it yourself, Stan - this _is_ just your memory,” he said, turning his back on the man before floating away, but not before turning his head back at the man with an upturned eye. “But I can show you something that  _isn't._ ”

Stanley looked to the demon, eyes fearful as his breath froze in his throat, and Bill snapped his fingers once more.

Stan cried out as unwelcomely familiar tendrils coiled around his body, slamming him down to the ground. Bill circled him like a hungry shark.

“I gotta tell you, Fez, fitting the bill of ‘Stan’s worst nightmare’ was tougher than I thought. I mean, I’m the master of the mind and even _I_ had a hard time pinning something down! You don’t care about your future, since you already resolved yourself to lose all your memories just so you could ‘kill’ me, _hehe._ And other than the tired cliche of hurting those _Pines brats_ or your brother, and that heights thing I already took advantage of, I was drawing a blank, _but then I got to thinking…”_

Cipher stopped in front of him and dramatically motioned to the portal, and to Ford, whose desperate pleas grew louder as he got closer and closer to the border between dimensions.

“It seems like _somebody_ hasn’t been showing and telling his twin about the thirty years worth of memories and scars they accumulated in the big, bad multiverse! It didn't seem very fair to me, especially since you've been so forthcoming with Sixer lately, what with the _voices in your head_ and all…”

“You were haunting my mind!” Stan shot back, but Bill waved it off.

“How long have you been sailing away on your little _dream boat?_ Three months? And all the while, every time Stanford turned a corner with a frown or a flinch, you’d wonder just what _terrible secrets_ he was keeping from you! Why he didn't trust you enough to just tell you! And don’t bother telling me it’s not true - I saw it, and felt it, all for myself…” Bill chuckled as Ford cried out to his brother in vain, those same words that had haunted Stanley for thirty years.

“Stanley! Stanley! Do something! STANLEY!”

His journal fell to the floor where it skidded toward Bill. Stan grit his teeth.

“This isn’t real, this isn’t real…” the man repeated to himself like a desperate prayer, trying to turn his head away as Ford started to disappear into the void of white.

“Well, today's your lucky day!” Cipher announced, motioning with his cane towards the portal, glowing white as Stanford was absorbed into the abyss. “Today you get to witness _exactly_ what you subjected your brother to for all those years! Stanford being my favourite _pawn_ and all, I kept a close **EYE** on him while he scrambled from place to place...”

Stan’s eyes widened as the white doorway of the portal suddenly darkened, and a blinding flash of lightning crashed through the opening. The room darkened, and the doorway suddenly displayed flickering slides in sepia tone - _10, 9, 8, 7..._

“Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?” Cipher spoke again, as the slides continued to count down - _6_ , _5_ , _4_ … “Right from the moment _Stanford the scientist_ came crashing through the interdimensional gateway into my humble abode!”

The tendrils were wound around Stan's body so tightly that he couldn't turn his gaze away, and even when he closed his eyes, the view was the _same inside his eyelids_ \- the bright, flickering portal counting down to the very thing that had haunted him for most of his adult life. Now it was right in front of him.

It was truly cruel - giving Stan this knowledge he'd so selfishly craved from his brother, and Bill presenting it to him like this. He didn't find out the truth like _this_ … without Ford by his side, without his brother’s _trust_. This was wrong... _it was wrong!_

Cipher’s laughter boomed through his head.

_**3, 2, 1…** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! Long time no see! Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and sorry it was so delayed! Life just doesn't let up :) As always, I love hearing your thoughts so don't hesitate to leave a comment/theory/paranoid ramble below! I write back to everything. Two chapters left after this one - it's about to get REAL. See ya next time! :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford and Bill approach town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK! :D
> 
> This will be the longest chapter I've written so far, and it's jam packed. Thank you to everyone who's stuck around through the long waits between chapters. You're the best :)
> 
> The next one after this will be the last chapter in the story.
> 
> Enjoy :)
> 
> *Trigger warning: tiny, tiny gore mention - probably nothing to be concerned about, but just in case!

Ford jumped, his inventions bouncing on his lap, as a loud boom of thunder suddenly rang out through the air. Looking up from his work for the first time in hours, he glanced up at the darkening sky above them.

Grey clouds swept across the horizon, consuming all daylight in their path. As raindrops started to patter against the windowpanes of the bus, a chill swept through the air, or at least it felt like it. Ford disregarded it as his gaze darted over suspiciously to Bill, as if the sudden change in weather was somehow _his_ fault.

Cipher’s demeanor didn’t change though - his attention, or _lack thereof,_ was directed out the window at the rushing change of scenery around them. They’d gone from busy, grey, depressing highways, to sparse, green, forest-lined roads. Gravity Falls was less than twenty minutes away by Stanford’s estimation.

It wouldn’t be long before the _oddities_ no one else seemed to notice would start popping up. With his highly trained, astute eyes, Ford could already make out common ‘Falls’ phenomena, such as four leaf clover shaped patches of four leaf clovers, rocks that looked vaguely like hotdogs, and gnomes raining down from the sky…

Wait, _WHAT??_

Ford did a double take, staring up through the blurry bus window at the sky literally _filled_ with _flying gnomes._

Without a second thought, Ford dove for his journal, grabbing the chewed pen from his pocket excitedly and clicking it rapidly as he started to chuckle. Never in all his years of documentation on gnome behaviour had he _ever_ seen anything like this! He quickly looked over to check if Bill had noticed the strange happenings as well.

From the corner of his gaze, it almost looked like Bill was _smiling_.

_BUMP._

The riders collectively _flinched_ as something hit the roof of the bus. Ford barely noticed, furiously scribbling notes down on a new journal page, the smell of ink on fresh parchment briefly overriding his concern. An announcement came over the bus P.A.

“Err, ladies and gentlemen, there seems to be some, uh, unexpected _hail_ in the forecast. Nothing to be alarmed about, I’m sure it’ll pass soon.”

Ford scoffed loudly as he gazed up from the journal briefly and looked about at his fellow passengers. No one could possibly believe this was just hail! I mean, how blind would they have to be??

“Wow, look kids! Rare, red, pointy hail! You never see _that_ in Portland!”

Ford shook his head incredulously as he started sketching the outlines of pointed hats falling from the sky. Another _BUMP_ on the roof, and a BU-DUMP on the side of the vehicle. Ford looked up from his work for a second and wondered… _were they aiming for the bus??_

Practically on cue came the unmistakable sound of the bus’ engine sputtering to a sudden halt. With a screech, the vehicle ground to a halt in the middle of the empty country road.

As soon as it had begun, the hail stopped. Only the pattering of raindrops on the road remained.

Ford looked over curiously to the bus driver, who grumbled as he stood up and pulled the lever to open the doors, draping his jacket over his head before stepping out into the rain. Ford strained his neck to follow the driver’s figure out the window, raindrops rolling over the glass. Even from his seat, he could see that the hood of the vehicle was smoking. He raised his thick eyebrows, almost _certain_ he’d seen the driver chasing something away… The thunder rumbled again as Ford narrowed his eyes.

_He didn't like this one bit._

The bus doors opened and the driver barreled up the steps, heaved over while he caught his breath, his jacket stained with raindrops.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we need to evacuate this bus immediately,” the driver spoke rushedly, trying not to appear panicked as the passengers started to murmur amongst themselves. “Please, take only your essentials with you, and make your way off the vehicle in an orderly fashion!” Without another word, the driver frustratingly started dialing a number on his phone, no doubt the bus company so they could send another vehicle to pick up the passengers post-haste.

The bus-goers grumbled as they grabbed whatever they could carry and made their way off the bus. Ford swiftly grabbed a fistful of Stan’s jacket as he _personally_ escorted Bill off the vehicle, the demon staying silent as he snatched his shiny new cane from the overhead bins, the air starting to smell like diesel.

Ford cringed as raindrops suddenly pattered against his head as he stepped down the rubber steps of the bus and onto the slick road. With his gaze squarely on Bill’s shifting eyes, he and the other travellers made their way out onto the dirt road, gathering well away from the bus as it smoked up like a signal fire. Part of Ford actually wondered if it was _meant to be just that..._

“What do you know about this, Bill?” Ford quickly asked him, turning away from the engine to stare down the demon with narrowed eyes. Bill yawned, taking another drink of his cold coffee while he casually leaned on his cane.

“Ever the conspiracy theorist, Fordsy,” he smirked, wiping his lip as the smoke rose higher in the sky. “I suppose I’ve somehow caused the rain too?”

Ford grumbled. Even from a distance, Stanford could see large, pointed dents in the metal exterior of the vehicle. From the way the bus had stalled, it seemed like the gnomes had somehow stopped the flow of oxygen to the engine, _but how?_

His eyes widened as he spotted it: a red, conical hat sticking out of the exhaust pipe. 

It could only mean one thing - somewhere in the vicinity, there was a hatless gnome running around.

In all his years of studying the creatures, he’d never once gotten close to their hats. He hadn’t even been sure they _could_ be removed, let alone what was under _them._ The scientist in him absolutely _itched_ as he stared at the hat’s plush outline, his ironclad grip on Stan’s jacket starting to loosen…

“What are you waiting for, Fordsy? A handwritten invitation?” Bill smirked. Ford glared at him.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he snapped back at him, exhaling as he pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. He couldn’t take down notes or make any kind of a decent sketch with one hand tied up…

Ford looked around at the passengers waiting by the side of the gravel road, and smiled as he noticed a responsible-looking, young couple standing under the bows of a redwood.

 _Perfect_.

“You know what I need? _A babysitter,”_ Ford smirked as he quickly yanked the demon along, Bill growling in protest as they approached the couple and kicking up gravel like a petulant child.

“Excuse me, sir and madam! May I ask a favor of you two?” Stanford implored as he and Bill approached the couple, who both looked up at the brothers uneasily. “I’m conducting some research on the, um, _hail_ , and I was hoping you could watch over my brother for a few minutes! You see, how do I phrase this… my brother tends to have a bit of _trouble_ in his old age when he’s left alone.” Bill shot Ford an absolutely  _murderous_ look as the couple nodded back sympathetically.

“We totally understand. We’d be happy to watch over your brother for you,” the woman smiled as she patted Bill on the shoulder. He glared daggers at Ford as the young thirty-somethings started making forced small talk with him, while Ford scurried off like an ecstatic school boy.

“I wonder if the hats are lined on the inside?! _Maybe there’ll be skin-cell samples!”_   he rambled to himself, grinning ear to ear. This research could be unprecedented! He could confirm dozens of theories about gnome origins with a _single hat!_ He reached inside his jacket pocket and felt around for his journal, when something in his back pocket started vibrating.

He quickly realized it was his phone and took it curiously from his pocket, looking at the screen to see the caller ID. A picture of Dipper’s smiling face appeared on the screen as the phone buzzed away. An uneasy feeling grabbed hold of him.

He quickly pressed ‘TALK.'

“Hello? Dipper? Is everything alri-”

“What’s the password?” came his great-nephew’s voice hurriedly. Ford smiled at the boy's vigilance.

“Operation: Bill’s a Big Fat Meany,” he replied proudly. Letting Mabel choose the password had been Dipper’s idea - _brilliant_ . His great-nephew’s heavy sigh suddenly carried over the line, and a feeling of absolute dread started creeping into Ford’s gut...

“Dipper, what’s going on?” he asked hesitantly. The boy took a deep breath before answering.

“Bill tried calling me from your phone early this morning.”

 _“What?!”_ Ford burst out, quickly hushing himself before darting behind the smoking bus, away from Bill’s prying eyes and ears. The demon could read lips, he was sure of that, and there was _no way in hell_ he was going to let Bill catch wind of this. The hat would have to wait. He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to think clearly, composing his scattered thoughts as he leaned against the cold metal of the bus. Bill actually had the _gall_ to try tricking Dipper and Mabel, luring them into danger _right under his nose!_ “Dipper, tell me _exactly_  what happened.” Dipper swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Well, first of all, Bill was posing as _you_ ,” Dipper replied, sounding justly unnerved. Ford felt his stomach _twist_ at the words. “He said something about you and Stan getting on an earlier flight home? And then he tried to convince me to come to Gravity Falls this morning with Mabel for Thanksgiving... He was laying on the flattery _real_ thick too, I think he  _really_ wanted us to be there when you got into town…” Ford took a deep breath before asking the most terrifying question in the forefront of his mind.

“Dipper, you _are_ still at home… right? ” Ford asked anxiously, paralyzed with fear as he waited for Dipper’s response...

“Yeah, of course!” Dipper said, and Ford sighed immediately as a huge weight lifted off his shoulders. The kids were safe, _thank all 79 gods…_ “I’m almost completely sure, like 99%, _maybe 97% sure,_  that Bill bought it. He probably thinks Mabel and I are in the shack right now waiting for him _._ " Ford could hear Dipper shudder on the other end of the line.

“I’m so proud of you, Dipper. Well done,” he congratulated the boy, his pride for his nephew briefly overriding his anxiety as he leaned against the back of the bus. “Are you doing okay, son? You still want to watch the procedure tonight, right? Because I would completely understand if you were too rattled by all of this..."

“No, no! Believe me, Mabel and I have been through wayyy worse with Bill. I don’t think anything could top last summer’s, erm, _events,_ " Dipper coughed. “And trust me - we wouldn’t miss tonight’s event for the world.” Ford could practically feel Dipper smiling on the other end, before another voice suddenly cut through.

“DIPPER! YOUR WAFFLES ARE GETTING COLDDDDDD!!” Mabel yelled, and Ford chuckled as Dipper groaned in annoyance.

“Ugh, I gotta go, Mabel made strawberry-butterscotch-candycorn waffles and I have to go choke them down,” the boy grumbled. Ford laughed as he heard Waddles squealing in the background. “See you tonight, Grunkle Ford. And… good luck. Not that you’ll need it, but… yeah.”

“Not to worry my boy,” Ford replied with a smirk, brushing off Dipper’s nerves. “Should be one _heck_ of an evening. I’ll see you and your sister then.”

With a press on the red ‘END CALL’ button, the line to his nephew cut out, and he was met with the pattering rain once more. He quickly pocketed the phone as he walked back around the bus to the tailpipe… only to find an empty socket.

His heart sunk like a stone as he quickly looked around the bus. No trail, no sign of any evidence... It was just _gone._

_There went his unprecedented research…_

Gravel crunched underfoot as the bus driver suddenly meandered through the crowd, cupping his hands around his mouth before addressing the group of wet, shivering travellers. Rain pattered on Ford’s damp hair as he turned towards the man.

“Kay, folks, I just heard back from the company,” the driver announced, his voice raised over the din of the falling rain. “Looks like the next bus’ll be here to pick us up in about half an hour.” The passengers collectively groaned in annoyance as another boom of thunder rang out.

 _Fantastic -_ now he had another thirty minutes to stand in the rain with the demon that had just tried to ensnare his great niece and nephew for the up-teenth time...

He wandered back over to the side of road, only to balk in surprise at the absence of the young husband and his _demon ward_. Stanford’s six-fingered hands began to shake.

“Where… where's my brother?” Ford managed to squeak out. The young woman politely smiled and shook her head.

“Oh don’t worry, your brother’s fine! He said he had to _take care of business,_ if you know what I’m saying, so my husband took him off-road for a couple minutes. They should be back soon,” she said calmly. Ford tried to breathe, reminding himself that they _were_ currently stranded in the middle of the woods. It’s not like Bill had any _other way_ of getting ho-

“Ahahaha… AHAHAHAHA!!”

**_VROOM!_ **

Ford _ducked_ on instinct as an engine revved and a beat up motorcycle shot out of the woods, over Ford’s head, and landed in a skid as it took off like a flash down the road.

The husband stumbled out of the woods, covered in wet leaves and mud, his jaw agape.

At least Ford wasn’t the only one.

 

* * *

 

_RRRRRIINGGG! RRRRRIINGGG! RRRRRRRRIINGGG!!_

“Wendy, can you pick up the phone?” Melody shouted across the giftshop, tourists clambering over each other to get their hands on the last snow globe while the woman fended them off with a broom. The cash register dinged as Wendy’s red hair popped up among the crowd of customers.

“I’m a little busy right now!” she called back, running numbers under her breath as she counted out change and narrowly avoided someone sneezing on her. _“Oh, gross!”_ The phone continued to ring. Melody grumbled under her breath.

“Soos? Can you get that?” she called out, starting to lose her patience as she barrelled through the small crowd and towards the back-room for a new box of panther shirts.

“Sure thing, honey!” Soos hollered back, handing a kid a Mr. Mystery bobblehead before skidding across the floor to the wall-phone. “Do-do-do-do… This is Mr. Mystery! How can we shock and/or confuse you today?”

“SOOS! Oh, thank god. This is Stanford. Listen, Soos - you need to close down the shack NOW,” came Ford’s panicked, heaving voice on the other end of the line. Soos furrowed his brow, and Wendy shot him a concerned look from behind the desk.

“Uh, yeah, sure, other Mr. Pines, but, uh… what’s the password?” he asked hesitantly, biting his lip.

“Argh, _Operation: Bill’s a Big Fat Meanie!_ Now, Soos, I _really need you to listen to m-”_

“Oh, thank goodness!” Soos sighed, and he shouted over to his fiance as she came back in with the new box. “Hey, Melody! It’s Stan’s twin brother on the phone! You remember him, right? Six fingers, wrote the journals, kinda looks like the grumpy cat…”

“SOOS!” Ford interrupted, breathing heavily.

“Haha, sorry Mr. Pines Two. What’s going on? You almost home? McGucket’s been downstairs working on the machine all da-”

“Soos, please stop talking and listen to me!” Ford shouted, Soos silencing himself. “ _Bill_ is on his way to the Shack in Stan’s body _right now_.” Soos turned white as a sheet. _“Soos_ _?"_   Melody slid in and gently took the phone from him.

“It’s Melody,” she replied quickly, gently rubbing Soos' back as he tried to control his erratic breathing. “It’s that triangular jerk, isn’t it?”

“Yes. He’s on his way to the shack on a _motorcycle_ ,” Ford replied at rapid speed. “You’ll see him coming a mile away - he’s dressed in a black suit and tophat, the works. You know Bill’s ego... Anyway, it’s paramount that you evacuate any tourists - they could be in very real danger. I’ll need Soos to come and pick me up immediately.”

“Done,” Melody replied, cool as a cucumber as she reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out the car keys to Stan's old car, tossing them to Soos, who managed to snap out of it and catch them midair. “Soos'll be fine - it’s just you, anyways.” She pointed at Wendy and made a motion to close up the till. Wendy nodded stiffly as the cash register dinged, slamming shut.

“Okay, people, party’s over! And no refunds!” Wendy called out, smirking a bit as she leaned back in the chair and put her feet up on the desk, people begrudgingly emptying out of the gift shop.

Soos dramatically took off his fez, grabbing his old hat off of Melody’s head before placing it on his own. He clenched his jaw as he turned the cap around, narrowing his eyes.

“Soos time,” he murmured heroically as he started making his way out to the car, before stopping in realization. “Haha, I don’t even know where I’m going!”

“I’m on route 10, twenty minutes from town,” Ford responded, overhearing.

“Route 10! Twenty minutes out!” Melody yelled as Soos took off like a flash, rushing leftover tourists out of the shop as he went. Melody took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. “Are you okay, Ford?”

“Frankly, not by a long shot,” he replied stiffly, his teeth starting to chatter.

“We’re gonna get him,” Melody replied, solid as a rock as she clenched her fist. “We’re ready for this. He’s not going to hurt anyone, and we’re _going_ to get Stan back. I promise.”

“I hope so,” Ford replied back, shivering. _“For all our sakes.”_

 

* * *

 

Dead, wet leaves slid under Bill’s feet as he snickered, his tinny laughter carrying through the trees as walked the beat-up motorcycle further into the woods. His cane dragged behind him, tapping over every rock and pebble in his path. He shivered with fatigue, pressing onwards to the pile of leaves the gnomes had left for him to ditch his ride in. When all was said and done after the night was over, he’d need a getaway vehicle after all…

He turned his head at a rustling in the bushes, scowling as he grabbed his cane with both, wrinkly hands. He relaxed as several gnomes emerged from the thicket, and he stamped the tip of his cane back down into the dirt.

“Oh, thank _Cthulhu,_ it’s just you weirdos,” he sighed, reaching into his suit-jacket. “I suppose you’re here for your end of the deal?”

The gnomes narrowed their eyes, looking around briefly before nodding.

“You weren’t followed?” a gnarly one of them asked. Bill scoffed.

“ _Please_ , the only other people who know about this dumb trading spot are ol’ Red Ice, Grendo, and Sixer, and all of them are either _in_ or currently _en route_ to their dumb, hick town,” he responded with an eye roll. “Now do you want the goods or not?”

The gnomes looked to one another before nodding, far too eager for their reward. The demon smirked.

Gently, Bill pulled out a small glass capsule from his suit jacket, twisted it open, and placed its seemingly invisible contents on the ground. The demon held out an open palm expectantly, and one of the gnomes handed him a small piece of a quartz-like stone.

Sticking his tongue out between his teeth in concentration, Bill caught a sunbeam in the gem’s path and aimed it carefully at what had been in the container.

The gnomes cheered gleefully, gnashing their pointed teeth together as a wide-eyed, _terrified_ Huldufolk woman grew before them. After just a few seconds, Bill pulled the stone out of the sunlight, the Huldufolk woman having settled at around the same height as the ecstatic gnomes. She looked around, bewildered and petrified, as the gnomes began to chant:

_“Queen! Queen!!”_

 

* * *

 

The trunk of the Stanley-Mobile slammed shut, luggage stowed, and the passenger-side door flew open as lightning crashed in the distance. Ford slumped back in the car seat, dripping wet from the rain.

“Step on it,” he growled. Soos nodded, his brow furrowed and his skin pale as he revved the gas pedal, speeding off towards town.

 

* * *

 

Bill dusted his hands off, pleased with himself, and whistled as he walked back towards the motorcycle he’d ditched in the pile of wet leaves. Rain trickled down from the treetops, spilling huge droplets of water all over his nice, new suit. He was in _far_ too good of a mood to let the rain get him down, though.

Relishing the moment, Bill knelt down in the mud and slowly unbuckled the sachet on the side of the bike. His hand eagerly dove inside the fabric, and he _grinned_ as he pulled out his smuggled goods from the carry-on, back from his time spent hidden in the airport bathroom.

A straight-edged razor, a can of hair gel, and a spare pair of Ford’s gloves. He tossed them onto the ground, wet mud splattering in their wake.

He took a quick look down at his watch, stifling a yawn as he swore under his breath - _he was behind schedule._ He had to hurry this up.

His fingers worked quickly as he stood up and started undoing the buttons of his suit jacket, peeling it off in one fluid motion, and exposing Ford’s stolen, red sweater underneath it. Bill could hardly _contain_ himself as he untucked the turtleneck, pulling it up _as he laughed._

 

* * *

 

_KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK._

Wendy and Melody both jumped at the sudden rapping at the door, Wendy almost falling off her chair behind the register. They both shot each other an anxious glance from across the giftshop.

_DING DONG, DING DONG, DING DONG, DING DONG..._

“I’m coming! Geez,” Melody muttered as she made her way over to the door. She reached for the doorknob, but stopped herself, her intuition warning her of something... She peered through the dusty peep-hole first.

_Red turtleneck, six-fingered gloves, and an upturned, fluffy cowlick of grey hair._

She breathed a sigh of relief as she stood up straight and swung open the door.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re here in one piece,” Melody sighed as she pulled him into a bear hug, Ford’s sweater soaked with rain. The man nodded as he patted her on the back comfortingly and pulled away, adjusting his glasses and quickly shutting the door.

“I’ll feel better once we have Bill contained in the shack,” he said, trying not to sound panicked as the door squeaked shut. “Any sign of him yet?” Melody shook her head as Wendy looked on from across the shop, leaning against the back wall.

“No, nothing…” Melody replied, worrisome as she squeezed her crossed arms. She looked over to Wendy. “Could you grab Stanford a towel from the laundry room?” The teenager hesitated for a moment before nodding to her boss, looking for a second too long at Ford before disappearing into the house.

Ford and Melody stood in silence, Ford’s eyes downcast. Something felt… _off_ , but Melody quickly put it up to anxiousness, one attributed to a distinct lack of her fiance...

“That’s weird… is Soos still bringing in you guys’ things?” she asked hesitantly.

“Oh, yes, not to worry,” Ford replied with a nod, trying to control his shivering. “There’s quite a few artifacts in our suitcases so they’re quite heavy. I asked Soos to set them down in my study for now, but it might take him a moment - most of the samples in the cooler bag have to be stored in the fridge and labelled. You do _not_ want to mix up regular cow’s milk with unicorn blood, _let me tell you,”_ he chuckled. Melody chuckled back awkwardly in response.

Wendy strode back into the shop not a moment too soon, tossing an old towel to Stanford, who grinned devilishly as he caught it midair. “I want to say… _Wanda?”_ The redhead narrowed her eyes.

“Wendy,” she replied, deadpan as he dried himself off, the towel picking up mud from his sweater.

“ _Wendy!_ Yes, of course! My apologies,” he replied nonchalantly, before cocking an eyebrow as he draped the towel over his shoulders. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask… where are the children? I half expected _Dipper_ at least to come barrelling in here with a notepad and pen by now…” The two women looked to each other blankly.

“Dipper and Mabel aren’t here,” Melody replied, to which the man stood up a little taller. “Didn’t they let you know they’d be watching the big night over the webcam?”

In a blink of her narrowed eyes, Wendy was certain she saw the man _twitch._

“Must’ve slipped my mind!” Stanford replied, shaking his head. “These last few days have been, well, _disorienting,_ to say the least. It might be best if I head downstairs for a moment and take a quick look at the machine, say hello to my old partner and all that...”

“I thought you said catching Bill running around with Stan’s body was the _highest priority_ right now?” Wendy cut him off sharply, glaring at the man. Stanford blinked back owlishly as Wendy suddenly took a threatening step towards him. She halted in surprise as Melody’s steadying hand fell onto her flanneled shoulder.

“Stanford’s had a rough couple of days, Wendy. Why don’t we give him some space, huh? Let him have a moment with an old friend?” she suggested. Wendy sighed, before crossing her arms in resignation.

Melody gave the man a small nod, and watched as he quickly made his way over to the vending machine and inputted the code. With a billow of smoke, the machine slid to the side, revealing the staircase beyond it.

“Just yell down when Soos is done!” he yelled up, his figure disappearing into the shadows of the staircase.

It was Melody who noticed it first, squeezing Wendy’s shoulder with widened eyes as she noticed the flash of silver in _Stanley’s gloved hand…_

 

* * *

 

The vending machine shut against the wall with a heavy thud. Bill finally let out a frustrated sigh, before clenching his hands until the knuckles ran white and slamming his fist against the drywall.

“Ford’s gonna _pay for this_ ,” the demon snarled, dust shaking down from the walls around him.

The stairs creaked beneath his feet as he descended deeper into the shack. Spiders scattered from their cobwebs at the sight of him, the straight razor in Bill’s left hand catching the light from the single lightbulb dangling above the narrow passageway. Bill slowly ran Stanley’s palm against the sharpened tip of the blade, drawing ruby red droplets of blood as he growled.

“I mean, what’s the point of all this if I don’t even get to _take out one of Pine Tree’s eyes??”_

The razor glinted under the crackling light as Bill approached the elevator, and found at least _something_ to smile about: the first to suffer for Sixer’s little trick back on the plane would be _good old Spectacles…_

 

* * *

 

Ear pressed against the peeling wallpaper, Melody furrowed her brow.

“I think he’s gone…” she murmured, her hand caressing the barrel of Ford’s emergency weapon. She looked back to Wendy, cellphone pressed to the teen’s ear. “Any luck reaching McGucket?” Wendy let out a frustrated sigh, shaking her head as she hung up.

“Straight to voicemail again. There must be no service down there,” Wendy answered, her hands trembling as she stuffed the phone back in her pocket. “We have to move  _now,_  or Fiddleford’s toast.”

Melody nodded stoically, her fingers flying as she inputted the code. The machine slid aside and, with a nod, the two women slipped into the narrow passageway and disappeared into the darkness.

 

* * *

 

Sparks flew throughout the darkened lab as Fiddleford concentrated, his tongue poking out as he precisely cut through a length of steel. The thought of dismantling the portal only to build some other hell-bound machine turned his stomach, but he couldn’t let it break his focus. He coughed through the dusty haze of the room as he steadied his hand. Any minute now, an incapacitated demon would be entering their midsts once again, and they had to be ready...

The man flinched at the sudden sound of footsteps by the door. It couldn’t already be time… no one had told him they were home yet! He lowered his emerald tinted glasses, taking a deep breath before he turned around, only to meet the singular figure of his old friend.

“Hi, F.,” Ford said, a tired smile on Stanford’s face. “Good to see you again…”

“Where is he?” Fiddleford asked bluntly, not wasting any time. “We’re behind schedule and we need to get him locked away for a few more hours ‘til the machine’s been tested...”

“Not to worry, we’ve got him in the car for now. Even _Bill_ can’t get past child-proof locks,” Ford chuckled as he walked towards him. Fiddleford’s thick eyebrows furrowed.

“Well, I’ll feel a whole lot better once we get him in the containment room,” he muttered, eyes downcast. “Let me just finish up this piece and I can brief you on the adjustments I’ve made…” Stanford took another step closer, one hand held behind his back.

“Of course, of course,” Ford spoke slowly, stepping towards the machine as he took a good, _long_ look at it.

It was far larger than he’d imagined, sprawling throughout the basement in a tangle of wires and pipes, with what looked to be a large generator in the middle. At the end of the machine sat a metal chair with a clamping helmet held above it, along with a small glass chamber on the other side. That was undoubtedly where the separation of man and demon would occur, _in one way or another…_

“You’ve done a fine job, F.,” _Ford_ cooed, taking in the expert craftsmanship. “You look like you’re doing well, too. _It’s so good to see.”_

“Yeah, well, gettin’ back your sanity and livin’ in a highfalutin mansion will do that to ya,” McGucket replied as he raised his spectacles back to eye level again, inspecting his handiwork. “I've been meaning' to tell y'all - after this nightmare is over with, I’d love to have the lot of ya over for Thanksgivin' dinner. The house is mighty quiet all by my lonesome, especially after the wife and I went our separate ways…”

“Oh, I’m _so_ sorry to hear that,” Ford said, shaking his head as he moved closer to the man, trying desperately to hide his creeping grin. "And nothing would make me happier, old friend." At that, he figured a smile seemed sincere enough not to hide anymore, and  _Ford_  outstretched his arms towards his old friend, awaiting a hug... and that one moment that would at least  _start_ to make this all seem better. McGucket hesitated, looking to his old research partner for a second. Something about the lights in the lab were making Ford look almost... _yellow..._

He disregarded it, and opened up his arms. He'd spent enough time distrusting the man.

Ford _smiled_.

“It’s good to see you, partner,” McGucket sighed as he felt himself being pulled towards his old friend... when suddenly, he stopped, narrowing his eyes at something in front of him. _Stanford_ cocked his head, noticing something too...

In the green tint of Fiddleford’s glasses, Bill could see Wendy’s reflection by the door.

The demon’s eyes widened in shock as he spun around.

 _“Gotcha!!”_ Wendy cried triumphantly from the doorway, as a net launched out from the barrel of her weapon and flung onto Stan’s body. Bill roared as he fell to the ground, suddenly tangled up in ropes. “McGucket, it’s Bill! Get out of there!" Bill struggled futilely, trying desperately to untangle his legs, when suddenly a mad smile overtook his face. He laughed wildly as he realized he still had his blade… _he could cut through the damn thing! It wasn't too late!!_

“You want to do the honors, Wendy?” Melody asked, narrowing her eyes as Bill tried to hacksaw his way out of the trap.

“My _pleasure_ ,” Wendy answered through gritted teeth, flipping up a panel on the underside of the barrel, exposing a big red button. Bill’s eyes met hers, his pupils shrinking in sudden terror as she pressed it.

“No, no, _no!!”_

Bill grit his teeth as the net sprang to life with electricity, immediately incapacitating his useless vessel. He flailed wildly beneath it, and McGucket turned away, unable to watch. Stan’s body suddenly collapsed on the ground with a dull thump. Out cold, the shining razor flung from his still-jittering hand, the weapon skidding across the ground with a clatter.

The room collectively breathed a sigh of relief.

“You take his arms, I’ll get his feet,” Melody spoke, motioning to Wendy, who nodded. “Is the holding cell ready for him, Fidds?” she asked, looking to McGucket, who still looked rightfully shaken.

“Yes ma’am,” he replied, a bead of sweat falling from his brow. “I’m gonna need Stanford’s help setting up the lie detector though, it’s a bit finicky. Ya know, the _real Stanford._ ”

“I’ll give him a call, he’ll want to know about this immediately,” Melody spoke, shaking her head in disbelief as she picked up Stanley's limp feet.

“There’s no need for that,” someone spoke from behind them. Wendy, Melody, and McGucket all spun around towards the sound of the voice, the women dropping Stan's limbs back onto the ground in their surprise.

The elevator doors shut, and before them stood Soos, and a dripping wet, furious, exhausted, _wrathful,_ and _very real,_ Stanford Pines. Soos looked worriedly to Stanley’s collapsed body beneath the net and bit his lip.

“Uh, he's gonna be okay... right dudes?" he asked. 

"Not to worry, Soos - Stan's going to be just fine," Ford said, his hands landing confidently on his hips. "Alright everyone, you know the plan. _Let's get to work."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, comments and kudos are hugely appreciated! I love reading your thoughts and I respond to everything. 
> 
> I'll aim to get the last chapter out by the holidays :) See you then!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford and Bill face off in a battle of nerves and wit, with Stan's life on the line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm FINALLY back!!! Sincerest apologies for taking such a long hiatus, but it'll be the last one, because THIS IS IT PEOPLE. The final chapter to all this insanity is upon us. It boggles my mind that I posted the first chapter of this fic a year ago. Thank you guys for sticking with me and giving me the encouragement and support to keep going. I used to have a bad habit of not finishing the stories I'd start, but this ends that pattern for good. 
> 
> I put a lot of love (and occasional horror) into this last installment, so I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. And remember, reality is an illusion, the universe is a hologram, buy gold, BYE!

**CHAPTER 17**

 

_“Ughhh.”_

Consciousness came to Bill like a dense cloud of fog, prying open his eyelids caked over with sleep. He wondered with a dull pit in his stomach how long he’d been out for.

The demon reached up to stretch out Stanley’s withered arms, but immediately discovered that he couldn't move them. Curiously, he glanced downwards, only to find that he’d somehow been wrangled into a straight jacket...

_Perfect._

He groaned with annoyance as he tried in vain to wriggle out of it. It would take some time to figure his way out of this one - Ford and the various other _rejects_ had ensured he was good and tied up. It didn’t matter anymore, though - the grand finale, the punchline to this cruel, pointless joke, was all in Ford's six-fingered hands now.

As the veil of sleep began to lift from his appropriated brain, he started to deduce where they had shoved him in the house. He was on some kind of bed, the plush fabric beneath him soft against his stubbled cheek, and dim moonlight filtered through a rectangular stained-glass window above him.

He laughed bitterly to himself - it was Stanford’s old bedroom. Bill had spent _plenty_ of time in there, back when he’d had the other twin to possess. _Damn metal plate had to make everything more complicated than it needed to be..._

Stan’s gravelly voice suddenly began to ebb through his thoughts. Bill groaned, for a moment even _regretting_ the decision to split his presence like this between Stan’s conscious and unconscious mind. Stanley’s sobs and occasional screams, however… those made it all worth it.

Bill startled at the sound of a key jiggling in the door, and tried to wriggle himself into a sitting position as the door squeaked open inch by inch. Looming by the doorway, bathed in silhouette, stood Stanford, his glasses shining opaquely in the moonlight.

“Sixer! Come for a little midnight rendezvous?” Bill smiled cheekily, squinting against the light as he suddenly fell back down onto his back with a grunt. Ford didn't react as he walked with purpose towards the demon, his footsteps creaking on the splintered wooden floor as he approached the bed. “Ha, quiet tonight, are we? I get it - you’re gonna miss your good ol’ pal Bil-agh!” Bill choked out as Ford _yanked_ the demon to his feet by the back of his straight jacket. Ford practically bristled as his hand grazed the back of Stanley’s neck, his brother’s skin ice-cold to the touch. Bill smiled. “Jeez, IQ, you’re in a real hurry to get rid of me, huh? What time is it anyway?”

“Almost midnight,” Ford answered gruffly, glancing down briefly at his cracked watch face before pushing Bill towards the open door, the yellow light of the hallway feeling terribly ominous as they moved closer and closer towards it. Ford pushed the thought out of his head and he gave Bill a hard shove. _“Time to go home.”_

 

* * *

* * *

 

_Stan’s bloodshot eyes stared into infinity._

How long had he been watching his brother’s life unfold before his eyes? Minutes, years … he couldn’t tell the difference anymore. The only thing that he knew was real was the pit in his stomach slowly consuming him, opening like a chasm beneath his trembling form...

The things he’d seen, the things Ford had been forced to live through, played out like a psychedelic nightmare before Stan’s unblinking eyes. Swirling colors and the smell of sweat overloaded his senses as he watched his twin scamper from dimension to dimension. Days and days of Ford’s life passed without eating, or sleeping, while avoiding the jaws of creatures far too big to possibly exist. Years of his brother’s life passed in moments, leaving their scars on the battle-weathered man. Stan finally realised with horror why Stanford never took off his clothes around him, the fabric concealing scar tissue that Stan was never meant to see.

It was too much, Stan’s eyes filling to the brim with tears. He couldn’t bear to watch his brother suffer any longer. He couldn’t bare to listen to Stanford’s cries, or look into that terrified, wild stare...

_This was hell._

**“HAD ENOUGH YET, STANLEY? WANT TO SEE YOUR BROTHER CLAW HIS WAY OUT OF XANTHAR’S SEVEN-LAYER STOMACH? SURE WAS A** **_DOOZY!_ ** **”** Bill shrieked, his manic laughter booming through Stan’s head like cannonfire. But if this was war _…_ he refused to break.

Stan grit his teeth as he stared into the gateway. This was his future now, an endless pool of regret and guilt… _it was all his fault…_

**_“NO, NO, NO!!”_ **

The portal suddenly flashed to life in a brilliant spark, and Stan squeezed his eyes shut as bright red embers flew throughout the room. The air seemed to sigh as the portal flickered out, and the entire room plunged into darkness.

_“Stan! Stan, over here!”_

Stanley slowly opened his eyes, seeing stars as he blinked. For a moment, he thought he’d heard something, like the voice of an angel...

_“STAN! Hang on, I’m coming!”_

Stan’s eyes snapped open at the sound of it. It almost sounded like… _Ford._

But it couldn’t be.

He was alone. They were both very much alone. And Ford had been alone for such a long time before that, _it was unbearable to think about..._

“STANLEY! Can you hear me??”

_His incredible, strong, resilient, brave brother..._

“I’m… sorry...” Stan began to sob, his breath quivering and sticking in his throat as his body went limp under the weight of his sins. “All of it… everything you had to _live_ through… all _MY_ faul…” he stuttered as a hard _SLAP_ met his cheek, snapping him out of it.

“Stanley! Get a hold of yourself!” his brother’s voice bellowed, and Stan turned his head to face his brother’s hardened eyes. The eyes of a warrior, the eyes of a killer… the eyes of his best friend.

“F-Ford? That y-you?” Stan’s voice quivered as he finally managed to form words. His memory began to return in flashes, Bill’s stronghold on his mind finally cut off. “What are you d-doing here? How are you here?”

“Stan, I’ve been here this whole time, remember?” Ford spoke hurriedly, and Stan gasped as his twin suddenly disappeared and reappeared like a chameleon before him.  It was the dream version of his brother that he’d created back when he’d had full control of the place. Back when they’d made their plan… _the plan, right! How could he forget!_ “Stanley, can you stand?”

“Y-yeah, I think so… a hand might be nice, though,” Stan admitted as he finally managed to crack a wry smile, extending a hand towards his imagined brother. Ford smiled back.

“Gladly,” he responded softly, grabbing his creator’s palm firmly and slowly helping Stan to his weary feet. Stanley wobbled, coughing as he balanced uneasily.

“Something’s happened to Bill on the outside, huh?” Stan probed as he looked about at the darkened room and the flickering portal, to which Ford gave him an honest shrug.

“I know about as much as you do, but I think you’re right about that,” Ford speculated, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “What I do know is that we probably don’t have a lot of time before Bill wakes up. You remember the plan?” Stan nodded, his resolve steadier than his balance as he cracked his knuckles gleefully, one by one.

“Let’s give that demon a show he’ll _never forget.”_

 

* * *

* * *

 

The metallic anti-chamber of the lab was ice cold as Bill was escorted inside by Stanford, red warning lights flashing periodically throughout the room and casting blood-stained shadows on the walls. Wendy and Melody stood stiffly by the glass window as Bill and Stanford passed them, Bill shooting them a wide, toothy grin as he and Stanford walked through the door and into the main part of the lab. The metal chair gleamed under the lab lights, looking about as appealing as a trip to dentist with a mouth full of cavities. Then again, _the pain might be a pretty fun..._

“We’ll be conducting a polygraph test first,” Ford said quietly, almost more to himself, as he began to focus on the equipment before him, flicking a green switch, and then a red one. “Before we start, I need to ensure that Stan’s safe, and that you’re telling the truth about him.” Bill rolled his yellow eyes as he was pushed down into the chair. He didn’t struggle as Ford pulled a repurposed seatbelt across his chest, grimacing only a bit as Ford tightened it with a sharp pull. _Patience._

“Ford, I’m getting an incoming call on the video chat,” Melody called out from behind the glass in the anti-chamber. Bill raised an eyebrow. “Should I put it through?”

“Yes, yes, just one moment,” Ford waved away as he furrowed his brow, entering a code into the small console beside the metal chair. The helmet hovering above Bill slowly began to lower down onto his possessed head, the cold alloy pressing down firmly against Stan’s skull. “Alright! Go ahead!”

Bill squinted as a small television screen that was mounted up on the wall crackled to life in black and white static, before breaking into soft color and sharply coming into focus. Before a webcam sat Dipper and Mabel, staring unflinchingly into Bill’s chartreuse eyes.

_He smiled._

“Well, well, _well!_ Pine Tree! Shooting Star! To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing YOUR sweaty, teenage-hormone-laden faces?” Bill exclaimed, grinning ear to ear.

“Hey! Mom says this is PERFECTLY NORMAL!” Mabel exclaimed, pointing her finger angrily at the screen. Dipper put a hand on his sister’s shoulder.

“Easy there, sis, don’t let him rile you up,” Dipper said, glaring daggers at the demon as he crossed his arms. “I hope you’re ready for a good old fashioned _exorcism_ , Bill.” The demon throatily chuckled.

“ _Oh_ , I sure am, Pine Tree! I’ll exorcise that old geezer just like I threw _you_ out into the cold recesses of the mindscape!” Bill cackled, Dipper and Mabel both narrowing their eyes at the demon, unafraid of his taunts. Bill took it as a challenge as he narrowed their beloved  _Grunkle's_ eyes as well, continuing, unblinking. “But I’ll do you one better! Once I throw Stan outta this rotting fleshbag, I’ll do what I shoulda done with _you_ and throw this body off the water tower!” The room was stiff as Bill whistled out the sound of Stan’s body plummeting to the earth, and *kersplatting* on the ground.

“Ooh! Maybe then Mr. Pines could inhabit the Mr. Mystery statue! It’d probably be the best attraction yet...” Soos wondered aloud. Everyone’s eyes turned to the large man in stunned silence, jaws agape.

“Soos, what is _wrong_ with you?!” Wendy exclaimed in shock, to which the room broke out in a chorus of angry, horrified chatter all directed at Soos, who immediately sulked under their collective gaze. He tried anxiously to defend himself as the room grew louder and louder...

“Everyone, _quiet_ _!!”_ Ford yelled, and everyone fell silent. “This is exactly what Bill wants! He’s trying to turn us against each other so we’re distracted!”

“ _Distracted?_ What are you talking about?” Bill asked innocently with a shrug of his shoulders as the polygraph machine let out a high pitched whine. Ford stared slack-jawed at the demon’s arm sticking out of the straight jacket. Bill squeezed his eyes shut with a knowing smile, the machine starting to smoke before... _POP!_ Ford ducked for cover as screws and pieces of metal flew throughout the room. His jaw dropped as he looked to the polygraph machine, destroyed and _on fire_.

“Dang nab it!” Fiddleford exclaimed as he ran into the room with the fire extinguisher, clanging against the ground as he hurriedly doused the flames. Dipper clenched his fists and Mabel’s head plunked down on her desk with an exasperated thump.

“Everyone stay calm!” Ford commanded, and patted down his hair, briefly realizing it was on fire as well. “Fiddleford, go and man the controls. We go ahead as planned...”

Once the fire was doused, McGucket unceremoniously dropped the extinguisher by his feet and scurried back into the control room, giving Ford a thumbs up from behind the glass. Ford adjusted his glasses with a glare at Bill, before snapping on his pair of six-fingered rubber gloves. At long last,  _it was time to begin._

“As everyone here knows, today we will exercising Bill from Stanley’s mind via this machine behind me - the Artificial Gateway,” Ford spoke, the machine whirring gently behind him as Fiddleford monitored it from behind the glass. Ford pointed to the helmet that was lowered onto Stanley’s head, and to a small glass tube connecting the helmet to the rest of the machine. “This tube here behind me is constructed from what I like to call ‘spirit-tempered’ glass. It allows the human eye to see a _spirit,_ or a being that resides in the mindscape, passing through the inner chamber, which I have magnified on this screen to my right.” Ford pointed to a large television screen, which turned on to show a close up of the empty glass tube.

“ _This_ is where the extraction will occur,” Ford continued, pointing to the tube. “Bill simply needs to walk through the artificial pathway in the helmet to the end of the tube, where a small portal will be activated. This portal is what's referred to as the 'doorway' that was damaged in Stanley's mind, which I have artificially reconstructed here. As well, as you’ve all been briefed upon, as per my deal with Bill…” Ford paused, clearing his throat and letting out a small sigh, “the portal will lead back to Bill’s dimension in the multiverse.” The room was stiff. “As… _uncomfortable_ a decision as that is, I can at least assure you that Bill’s expressed complete disinterest in affecting any section of the multiverse near us ever again. However we may feel about the _morality_ of this, I must abide by the promise I made him for the release of my brother.” Bill rolled his eyes, trying his best to sit through this _garbage…_

“The entire process should take about ten minutes, so it will go by relatively quick,” Ford spoke again, turning to Bill. “Once the machine is activated, you should see a portal appear at the end of the tube. That will be your exit point.” Bill closed his eyes, letting out a strained sigh. _Just a few more minutes and Stanley would be back in his body._

“So what you’re saying is,” Bill started with a wry smile, trying not to laugh from the sheer stupidity of it all. “You’re going to go against _everything_ you’ve fought for in your pathetic, mortal life _just_ to get your brother back, and everything is going to go exactly according to your plan? That I’m going to stroll into the mystery portal that you haven’t let me inspect for myself, and that I’ll be perfectly fine?” Ford chuckled awkwardly, trying not to sweat.

“Well, yes, I think I just established that…” he spoke as Bill bit his lip, fighting a laugh that threatened to escape Stanley's tobacaco-coated throat.

“Oh _come on_ , Sixer! It doesn’t take a brainiac like YOU to figure out what’s going on here! I mean, it’s _insulting_ that you would believe that _I would believe this crap!"_  Bill laughed. Everyone in the room looked around awkwardly, Ford swallowing hard. “I mean, this is just ridiculous! And you can ALL drop the act, by the way. Unless you’re _lying_ to them, IQ, but I don’t think that’s really your style...”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bill. You know we have a deal, and I’m abiding by that...” Ford started, beads of sweat gathering at his brow.

“Don’t play games with me, Sixer,” Bill cut him off, narrowing his eyes. “We _both_ know you’re too smart, and too pathetically _moral_ to let me go out and wreak havoc on the multiverse again. That so-called _portal_ is just a dressed up KILLING MACHINE, so why don’t you save us all some time and  _just admit it!!"_

“That’s enough, Bill!” Ford bellowed, leveling with the demon full throttle as the room collectively held their breath. “You idiot! We want the _same thing_ \- for you to get the hell out of my brother’s mind! As much as I’d _love_ to crush you into fine particulate matter, that portal is completely safe, just as I promised you it would be. I’m not playing around with my brother’s life, Bill. _We’ve come this far._ You have to trust me!” he pleaded, his voice quivering for a moment. Bill noted it, and shrugged, giving in. He’d toy with his food a little longer. After all, that’s what this had been all about, _wasn’t it?_

“Fine, Sixer. I’ll play along,” Bill said ominously, before Stanley’s eyes slowly drooped closed, and _Bill finally exited Stan’s consciousness._ Ford let out a heavy sigh.  _Halfway there._

“You’re sure this is going to work, Grunkle Ford?” Dipper asked quietly, his hands shaking on the desk. Ford nodded.

“I’m sure of it. Have faith, son,” Ford assured him, trying his best to seem self-assured and confident. Dipper nodded back, not entirely convinced, but when was he of anything? He had to believe in Ford, _and in Stan too…_

“Look! Bill’s on the screen!” Mabel called out, pointing to the monitor.

Sure enough, with a flourish of his cane, Bill walked into the tube and filled it with glowing yellow light. He looked around for a moment, the cavern long and intimidating. Bill narrowed his eye - _he didn’t like this one bit._ He tapped his foot impatiently as Ford got to work, the man almost managing a hopeful smile

He tapped his foot impatiently as Ford got to work, the man almost managing a hopeful smile as the other end of the tube began to vibrate, then softly glow white. Finally, in a flash of color, a swirling vortex opened at the end of the tube. It was roughly shaped like a door, aside from it’s bright green and yellow flickers and shifting shape, which reminded one of toxic waste more than a standard block of wood. Ford pressed a small button at the end of his control panel, turning on his mic so he could be heard inside the passageway.

“Testing… can you hear me, Bill?” Ford asked anxiously. Bill rolled his eye.

“Unfortunately,” he responded, and seemed to look back towards the entrance of the tube. His eye curled upwards in a smile. “How about you, _Stanley_?”

The room gasped as a battered Stanley Pines stumbled into the passageway, a glowing, yellow leash around his neck. Holding the end of it was one of Bill’s goons, a newly reincarnated Eightball, looming over the man. As they reached the demon, Eightball handed over the leash to his master, crossing his arms as he stood watch over the prisoner. Bill eyed his bodyguard with confidence - _there wouldn’t be any punching from Stan today._ Bill laughed as he gave the leash a good yank and Stan lost his balance, stumbling to the ground.

“Grunkle Stan!!” the twins cried in unison. Wendy, Melody and Soos rushed into the main room to get a better view of the monitor, jaws agape at the bruises and cuts on Stan’s face and body.

“Ford, you’ve got to stop the machine!” Wendy exclaimed. Ford seemed frozen, fear paralysing him, until he clenched his fists as hard as he could muster.

“BILL! Stan’s supposed to be safe inside the mind, we had a DEAL!” he yelled, his face contorting in anger.

“I’ve just brought a little _insurance_ with me, that’s all!” Bill replied nonchalantly with a shrug as Stan hesitantly got to his feet, shooting his brother a desperate look through the glass. “You INSIST that the portal is safe, so I figure my crash-test dummy over here can take a little moonwalk, and then I’ll just yank him back! If Stan’s still alive, we’re in business! I mean, you shouldn't have any problem with this, since it’s _completely safe,_ right, Sixer?” Bill’s eye curled smugly, like a cat with a freshly killed mouse in it’s teeth. Ford stared him down, his fists shaking. Stan looked to Ford, terror in his eyes as Eightball grabbed Stanley squarely by the shoulders and inched the man closer to the portal. “I’m ready when you are, IQ! Why don’t we do it right now? All it takes is a little _push-_ ”

 _“Stop!_ Don’t… don’t push Stan in,” Ford acquiesced begrudgingly, finally giving in and cursing himself.

“Something wrong?” Bill asked innocently, leaning on his cane. Ford looked back to his team, _to his family…_ He had no choice…

“I need to make a modification before a test can be run…” Ford stumbled on his words, trying not to crumble, “because, currently… Stan wouldn’t survive...” He hung his head as he spat out the rest. "No one would.”

Bill burst into a roaring laugh, and in his joy he gave Stanley a good kick to the ribs. Stan groaned as he clutched his stomach, glowering at Bill as he tried to stay standing, spitting out blood.

“You leave our Grunkle alone!!” Mabel yelled, on her feet and staring Bill down with fire in her eyes. Dipper’s head was lowered, and he glared at Bill from under the brim of his cap.

“Don’t think you’ve won, Bill,” Dipper said. Bill’s pupil dilated in pleasure.

“Oh, I _knew_ I’d won since I overheard your little conversation with Fordsy back in the lodge!” he finally admitted, the satisfaction absolutely _consuming_ him as the twins and Stanford loudly gasped. _“_ That’s _right_ , boys and girls! I’ve known about your little _mousetrap_ from the very beginning! You may have foiled my plans to get you two _brats_ out here, but that doesn’t matter anymore. All I _really_ wanted was for you all to be here, together as a _little family_ , so you could all watch me do _THIS.”_

Bill dropped the leash.

“Bill, NO!” Ford cried out suddenly as Bill gleefully stepped past Eightball and with the ball of his foot, pushed Stanley into the doorway.

Ford’s eyes welled with tears as he watched his brother hit the mirage portal, and burst into flame. In a flash of light and heat, Stan was gone.

Ford fell to his knees.

The tube filled with bright, hideous yellow light as Bill laughed and laughed, looking around at all the shocked and tearful faces in the room. He barely managed to *snap* away his guard into thin air as he lapped it all up. Their grief was like _cotton candy_ to the demon, melting in his mouth and _oh so sweet!!!_

“You _idiots!_ _”_ Bill howled, clutching his sides. “You stupid, naive, IDIOTS! After EVERYTHING, after WEIRDMA-FREAKING-GEDDON, did you _actually_ BELIEVE I would fall for that??!”

“No, but you’re about to fall right into this.”

 **_“WHAT?”_ ** Bill exclaimed, his eye bulging at the sight before him.

Standing in triumph at the skull end of the tube stood Stanley Pines, wearing a victorious smirk, and alive as ever. He cupped his hands around his mouth as he stood clear of the main section of the tube, and looked to his brother on the other side of the glass.

“FORD, DO IT NOW!” he yelled.

In one swift motion, Stanford yanked down a lever hidden behind the control panel, and Bill screamed like a frightened animal as the rug was _quite literally_ pulled out from under him. The false floor of the tube pulled away to reveal a hidden bottom, into which Bill tumbled and landed flat on his face. He cried out as he flipped over, turning as red as the hottest of embers, screaming out Stanley’s name in _fury_ before the false floor closed over him, concealing the demon in the glass drawer below.

The room _erupted_ in cheers.

“Good show everyone!” Ford cried triumphantly as he wiped his brow, looking to each smiling face in absolute relief. It had been _quite_ a performance to say the least, and to have asked everyone participating to act to their fullest abilities had been quite the feat as well - they probably deserved some kind of award! Not to mention there had always been the possibility that something _could_ have gone wrong, but once again, Bill met every one of their expectations of him. Once again he’d underestimated them, and _once again_ the pitfalls of his own hubris had been his undoing. For a chaos demon, he certainly was a creature of habit.

Ford paused as the helmet on his brother’s head started to beep loudly. He smiled broadly - he knew exactly what was _finally_ about to happen. He looked to his twin as Stanley’s spirit body disappeared from the glass tube, fading back into reality. More beeping, until it finally stopped, and Stan’s red nose began to twitch.

Slowly, Stanley Pines opened his weary eyes, back in his own body again.

“GRUNKLE STAN!” the kids cheered in unison, tears streaming down Mabel’s face and secretly down Dipper’s as well, wiped away with a bashful sleeve. Soos practically tackled the man, still held down in the heavy chair, crying more than anyone.

Stan simply sat there and smiled, soaking in all the happiness in the room and completely and utterly _exhausted_. His head was pounding as he looked from face to face of every person in the room that he loved, all of them clamouring to congratulate him or ask him question after question. Ford looked to his brother from across the room, immediately sensing the ‘help me’ message in his twin’s eyes. Stanford parted the sea of people as he started to shoo them away, with some help from Melody to wrangle back her sobbing fiance.

“Stan’s been through a lot, everyone, give him some space,” Ford spoke gently as they started to quiet down, turning to one another and holding each other close.

The machine was still gently whirring, beeping softly as it monitored Stan’s vitals. There was also the occasional bang from Bill attempting to break the shatter proof glass in the tube. Stan glanced for the first time to the monitor, showing Bill repeatedly trying to shape shift, grow or shrink, and throw himself against his confines like an irate child throwing a temper tantrum. Stan laughed heartily for the first time in what seemed like forever. For having caused all the madness and damage that he had, it seemed ridiculous that a _box_ would confound Bill so much.

Ford approached his brother slowly, leaning over him to release the seatbelt. With a small pair of scissors, he cut away the straight jacket as well. Stan let out a relieved sigh, stretching out his withered arms, before pulling Stanford into the tightest hug his exhausted body could manage. Ford seemed surprised for a moment, before he squeezed his brother back. A tear fell down his cheek as he held Stanley close.

“Welcome home, brother.”

 

* * *

 

**EPILOGUE**

 

Dipper grinned as his camera clicked, capturing Grunkle Ford’s six-fingered hand turkey in all its glittering glory. Mabel beheld her handiwork proudly, reaching for her blue-haired troll pen.

“One down on the six-fingered bucket list!” she proclaimed as she checked off the item on a sprawling checklist. Ford laughed as he wiggled his fingers.

“This is the most festive my hand has ever looked! Thanks Mabel, sweetie,” the man said as he tousled the young one’s hair, Mabel giggling as the hand turkey left glitter in her hair.

“This camera is amazing, thanks again, Grunkle Ford,” Dipper said as it spat out the hard copy of the image. Ford had invented a polaroid camera that could produce moving images, truly capturing a moment in time. Dipper waved the photo out in his fingers as the image slowly came to on the paper, moving like a short lived video and looping as if the subjects were happily stuck in time.

“Dinner’s ready!” Melody suddenly proclaimed from the kitchen, briefly appearing at the doorframe with her apron covered in gravy stains. “Everybody come to the table! Wendy, Soos, help Stan downstairs!”

“Already on it!” Wendy called from the staircase, one of Stan’s arms draped over her shoulder, the other arm on Soos’ shoulder as they slowly helped the man down the stairs. Stan rolled his eyes as he came down the steps.

“Ugh, I’m not a hospital patient, you two! You don’t have to help me with everyt-whoa!” he exclaimed as he stumbled on the stair for a moment before Soos caught him by the arm. Stan let out a gruff sigh. “Nevermind.”

Waddles squealed happily as he ran in circles around the dinner table, finally settling down at Mabel’s feet as everyone found their seats. Wendy had helped her dad build the Pines family a new dining room table, long enough to seat everyone comfortably in the middle of the living room. It was rough, but beautiful, bits of dark brown bark rounding out the jagged corners of the wood - very fitting for the Mystery Shack.

The table quickly filled up with a huge wild turkey caught by McGucket, stuffing, mashed potatoes, green beans, carrots, bread rolls, gravy, cranberry sauce, and a beautiful pumpkin pie. The kids happily cracked a couple cans of Pitt Soda while the adults happily cracked their cans of beer. Wendy looked over her shoulder as she sipped on her ‘cola’ that had mysteriously been opened _away_ from the table.

“Everyone! Can I have your attention for a minute!” Ford announced as he tapped on his wine glass, preferring a nice Riesling instead with his meal. After all, he hadn’t celebrated Thanksgiving in over thirty years. “I’d like to make a toast. Will everyone raise their liquids of choice?”

The table laughed as everyone held up their drinks, looking towards the eldest twins seated together at the end of the table. Stanford cleared his throat nervously, before looking towards his brother, Dipper, Mabel, Soos, Melody, Wendy, McGucket, and even Waddles, letting out a happy snort from the ground. Ford smiled. He took a deep breath and began.

“For more than thirty years, I didn’t have a family,” he started. “I was an arrogant young man, believing I could accomplish anything and everything on my own. That belief got me into a lot of trouble, as I’m sure you all know.” Everyone laughed, including Ford, and he continued. “I didn’t think I needed a true friend like McGucket, who told me the truth when I needed to hear it,” he said, looking to his old friend, “or a brother who wanted nothing more than to be there for each other and support each other through thick and thin.” He looked to Stan, putting his free hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Let alone all of you! I can say without a doubt that _this_ , being here with all of you, with my _family_ , is the greatest accomplishment of my life.”

“Soos, are you crying again?” Wendy whispered from across the table as Soos buried his head in his sleeve.

“I… I just have gravy in my eye!” he cried, Melody patting him on the back while she shook her head. _How on earth did she find such a sensitive, good natured guy?_

“I’d like to say something too,” Stan said as he slowly got to his feet, holding onto his chair to support his weight. He raised his beer can up as he looked to his brother. “I wouldn’t even BE here if it weren’t for this genius over here. This guy had to deal with the biggest _jerk_ in the multiverse, and no, it wasn't _me."_ Everyone laughed. "Seriously though - Ford had to deal with our least-favourite supernatural annoyance in international waters, AND find a way to get me out of the weirdest, most terrifying place I could ever imagine - my own mind.” Everyone laughed again. Stan let out a gruff cough. “It wasn’t a joke.” Ford laughed loudly as he held his glass high, looking to his brother with a warm smile. “I guess what I’m trying to say is thanks, to all of you, but mostly to my amazing brother. There’s no place I’d rather be than here with him, and all of you. Happy thanksgiving everyone!”

“Happy Thanksgiving!” everyone said, clinking their cans and taking a drink.

“So, whatever happened to Bill?” Dipper asked curiously as he looked to his six-fingered grunkle. Ford smirked.

“I’m glad you asked,” he said, looking like he’d been waiting for that question to pop up all night. On the table sat a few centerpieces, one of them being a vase of sunflowers the twins had brought from California, an expensive vase from McGucket’s newly acquired mansion, and the last being the unsuspecting beanie of Stan’s, sitting in a perfect dome on the table. Ford leaned over and plucked it off the table, and everyone gasped. Under the beanie was a spherical snow-globe shaped container, similar to the one the rift had been kept in, except that inside of it was a glowing, yellow demon slumped against the glass. Bill suddenly noticed the light pouring into his new home and perked up, looking around at all the people staring at him.

“Where am I this time? Are you… are you all _eating dinner?_ Oh, this is just _perfect_ ,” he murmured, crossing his arms as his eye creased into a frown. “I’ve sunk so low as to be a freaking  _centerpiece!_ Shooting Star! Pine Tree! _You two_ at least must agree that this is completely demeaning!”

“Aw, he’s adorable!” Mabel chirped, tapping on the glass. Bill snarled, holding his hands up to where his ears would be.

“HEY! Do you have any idea how LOUD that is in here??” he cried. “ _Then again_ … keeping doing that Shooting Star! I’m sure the glass will be just fine!”

“Hands away, Mabel!” Ford said, grabbing the dome and bringing it up to his eye level as he glared at the demon. “We can’t afford an accident, even though it’s highly unlikely. The glass on this dome is the same type that the gateway tube was made of - spirit-tempered and highly crack resistant. Still though, we must be careful.”

“Where are you going put him?” Wendy asked. “On the other side of the world? Underground? At the bottom of the Mariana’s Trench?” Ford chuckled.

“All good suggestions, but I have a place that’s even safer than that. I’ll tell you more after we eat though, I’d hate to see Melody’s beautiful meal get cold!” he spoke with a nod to the chef.

“Here here to that!” she agreed with a laugh, and at that they all dug in. Bill looked about frantically.

“Hey! _I want to know too!_ What idiotic place are you going to try and stuff me??” Bill begged of them, everyone at the table collectively ignoring the supernatural yellow nightlight on the table. “You think you can just _IGNORE_ me?? Question Mark! Spectacles! _Fez?? SIXER??”_

Stan smirked as he happily put his beanie back over the snow globe where it belonged, effectively muffling Bill’s voice completely. He and Ford looked to each other and clinked their drinks in celebration.

The dinner was perfect, filled with laughter and delicious food. Mabel even snuck some mashed potatoes and carrots under her chair into a little bowl for Waddles, who happily scarfed it down. Wendy and Soos arm wrestled over the last bite of stuffing, Dipper, McGucket and Ford became wrapped up in a debate over the gravitational influence on dark matter, and Stan and Melody listened intently to the hilarious and equally  _strange_ tales of Mabel's various love-interests in her class.

Stan's eyes were starting to feel heavy, an irritating side effect of being out of his body for so long. It was hard to stay awake for long periods of time as his mind and body recovered from his ordeal, which was only just a few days back. His whole family had been insistent on him getting ample rest and taking it easy, regardless of how much he protested. He yawned, trying to keep it under wraps, but it was too late. Ford was already looking over at him with concern.

“It’s just the turkey, I swear!” Stan said defensively as he gobbled down more mashed potatoes and let his eyes close for just a moment… two moments…

“I’m going to get my brother up to sleep everyone, I’ll be back soon,” Ford said as he slung his brother’s arm over his shoulder. Stan tried to shove him off, but he was too tired to manage the small motion. He groaned and accepted his sleepy fate.

“Aw, already? We haven’t even had the cupcakes I made yet!” Mabel protested. Dipper leaned over to whisper to his tired grunkle.

“Trust me, you don’t want one. There’s glitter glue in the frosting,” Dipper shuddered. Stan laughed as he looked to his family.

“Looks like that’s it for me, everybody. Happy Thanksgiving and all that junk,” Stan yawned as Ford helped him to his feet.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Stan!” the room echoed.

“Go get some sleep, ya old codger,” Wendy winked, before looking to Stan’s turtle-necked brother. “Ford, do you need any help?” Stanford shook his head with a smile.

“I’ll be fine, enjoy your meal. I’ll be back in a little while,” he said as he escorted his brother to the stairs, and the two disappeared up the creaky staircase.

 

* * *

 

“You know, some coffee could be all I need!” Stan said as they came to the top of the stairs. “Maybe some tea, or one of those crazy energy drinks with the wings…”

“Stan, it’s okay that you need rest. Bill put a lot of stress on your body by inhabiting it, not to mention what your non-physical body must have gone through,” Ford murmured as he looked towards Stan’s bedroom around the corner. Stan paused.

“Yeah, about that,” Stan started, unsure how to finally bring this up. “Bill, uh… showed me some _pretty crazy stuff_ while I was in there. Some stuff about… you.” Ford stiffened, his eyes looking owlishly big as he turned to his brother, both of them stopped in the middle of the hall.

“Exactly what ‘stuff’ did he show you?” Ford asked, fear marking his eyes. Stan’s head was low as he remembered.

“Things that happened to you on the other side of the portal, after I… after what happened in the lab all those years ago,” Stan said, squeezing his eyes shut as tears threatened to fall. He’d had enough of all the crying, even the sappy, happy crying that came with being back in the real world. “I didn’t want to see, not without you, but Bill wouldn’t let me look away. Even when my eyes were closed…”

“Stan…” Ford started, unsure of what to say as he held his brother close for a moment. “I… I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you myself. I should have… I _should_ have told you on the boat, but I didn’t want to think about the past anymore. I’d missed out on so much time with you, I wanted to be experiencing the _present_ to my fullest ability. I hope you can understand.” Stan sniffed, nodding.

“I do, it’s just… everything Bill showed me was just _awful_. Terrifying, and disorienting, and so dangerous… I had no idea the hell you went through because of me.”

“Don’t say that, it wasn’t your fault, Stan,” Ford assured him as they moved into Stan’s room and sat down on the bed. “And besides, not everything in the last thirty years was _bad!_ What exactly did Bill show you?”

“One scarring experience after another, like a never ending horror film,” Stan recalled. Ford chuckled as he shook his head.

“Sounds like Bill only showed you what he _wanted_ you to see,” Ford said, rummaging through his coat and pulling out a journal Stan had never seen. It was plain looking - tan on the outside, and unmarked. Ford opened it, and Stan’s eyes widened in wonder as a kaleidoscope of colors and images exploded from the pages and filled the room like a massive hologram. Stretched across it were what looked like _memories_ \- lush jungles, and aliens, and galaxies speckled with stars. Stan was speechless. _There came the damn tears again._

“I had some incredible experiences too, and I wouldn’t have seen any of it if it wasn’t for you,” Ford said, smiling as he looked at his stretches of memory from the thirty years travelling the multiverse. “I want to share it all with you, the good parts that is. Sounds like you had your fill of the bad. It’ll only be adventure and mystery and wonderment from here on out, brother.” The twins looked to each other and smiled.

“Nothing would make this old man happier,” Stan said, attempting to fight another yawn but losing the battle. Ford chuckled.

“Time for bed,” he laughed as he closed the book. “The stories will have to wait until the morning.”

Stan chuckled as he took off his glasses and set them on his bedside table, fluffed his pillow briefly, and slid under the covers for a good night’s rest.

“So where _is_ Bill going to go?” Stan asked sleepily, the question still lingering on his mind. Ford smirked.

“I figure our demonic prisoner needs the best guards a scientist like me can find, and there’s no better guards who understand Bill’s capabilities like the Huldufolk,” Ford smiled. Stan’s face lit up. “They can keep him deep underground in a place where no humans will venture, and keep a watch on his abilities to disturb dreams. Plus, since he’ll be incapacitated in the dome, they should have no problem with hosting him in their inner sanctum, since his energy will be trapped in the glass. We’ll make it a fair trade - they guard Bill, and I’ll supply them with more inventions to improve their city.” Stan shook his head in disbelief as he squished his head into the soft pillow beneath it.

“You’re a genius, Sixer, have I ever told you that?” Stan said as he cuddled into the blankets. _So warm…_

“Ha, once or twice,” Ford laughed as he stood up from the bed and walked towards the door.

“Make sure to save some turkey for me, will ya? And some potatoes…” Stan drawled through a yawn. Ford nodded.

“Will do,” he assured him, flicking off the lights. He looked to his brother, cozy and warm under the blankets and on the edge of sleep. The adventures they’d have together would surely outdo everything he’d seen in the farthest reaches of the galaxies.

“Goodnight, Stanley,” he smiled, and he shut the door.

 

**END**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *trying not to cry* Well, that's all folks! Thanks for coming on this crazy ride with me. I feel like this may only be the beginning for me as writer. I may write a few more short stories on this site with other fandoms. An FMA, SNK, or even YOI one may be next, but who knows :) 
> 
> I feel like now may be a good time to plug another project of mine that I'm quite passionate about. I'm a girl of many talents, and my dearest project is my band. Yep, I'm in a band too! If you like the drive and satire of old punk/indie bands then you'll love it, and it'd mean the absolute world to me if you followed our journey. You can start here with our first lyric video --> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-932khh4ToE
> 
> Thanks for reading everyone, and maybe I'll see ya next time :)


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